Arthur Goes Fifth VI: When Worlds Collude
by Dead Composer
Summary: The Yordilian Invasion, part 1. After witnessing a murder at the hands of space aliens, Muffy and George are drawn into a sinister conspiracy.
1. George Delivers

Disclaimer: I'm not Arthur.

* * *

Through a quiet Elwood City neighborhood rolled an unremarkable yellow Mitsubishi. The vehicle showed a few scratches and dents, but the engine purred like a cat.

"Thanks for letting me take a ride in your new car," said George, smiling at Muffy.

"It's nothing to be excited about," replied Muffy emotionlessly. "I was really hoping for a new limousine, but as my dad always says, I need to learn to be patient."

"A limousine's just a car you can play board games in," George remarked.

"It's not even one of his own cars," Muffy went on. "He bought it from another dealer."

"It was a token of friendship," insisted her father from the driver's seat.

Muffy glanced out the slightly chipped window and beheld a dramatic sight. "Omifreakingosh!" she exclaimed. "That lady's having a baby in the street!"

"What the…" said George, his eyes widening.

True enough, on the sidewalk corner to the right of them, a squirrel woman was trying to aid a rabbit woman in the throes of labor. Her aid mainly consisted of rubbing the half-naked woman's back.

"Somebody get an ambulance!" shouted the expectant mother between gasps of pain.

"That's Augusta!" cried Muffy. "Dad, stop the car!"

They screeched to a halt at the curb, and Muffy leaped out of the vehicle, George racing to keep up. "It's _so_ undignified," the monkey girl commented. "A baby should be born in the privacy of a hospital."

"I don't remember her being pregnant," said George as he and Muffy arrived at the scene of the birth.

"One of you kids, go call 911," Maria Harris urged them. "You know the number, right?"

"I'll do it," offered Muffy, grabbing her cell phone.

While she contacted the dispatcher, George wandered toward Augusta's writhing feet and learned some astonishing new facts. "Uh, Mrs. Harris?" he pointed out. "The baby's coming out _this_ end."

"Not now!" said the perplexed Maria. "Wait until we get to the hospital! I don't know nothin' 'bout birthin' no baby!"

"Check out those cute little ears," George remarked casually. "They don't have any fur on them."

"I can't stop it!" Augusta wailed, her abdomen shaking violently. "It's coming out _now!_"

"Ohgodohgodohgod…" muttered Maria.

Curious, Muffy rushed to George's side while still talking with the hospital. "You'd better bring a cradle," she said into the phone.

Wanting to be helpful, George dove to his knees and supported the rabbit baby's sticky head. "It's…it's…" He carefully laid one hand underneath the infant's back. "It's…it's…uh, it's not a boy."

"Ewww," said Muffy, grimacing. "She's got a tentacle coming out of her belly button."

"That's no tentacle," said George. "It's an alien parasite."

"_What_ kind of cord?" Muffy asked the hospital receptionist.

As the newborn slid into George's nervous hands, Augusta sighed with elation. A wonderful sensation spread from her toes through her entire body.

"Show me the baby," she pleaded.

George cautiously lifted the tiny, wriggling baby toward Augusta's outstretched hands. She gently embraced it, knowing instinctively how it should be treated.

"She's so beautiful," gushed the new mother. "I love her. I don't even have to _try_ to love her—I just do."

"Isn't it the sweetest thing in the world?" said Maria tenderly.

"Yes, it is," said Augusta, pressing her lips against the infant's forehead. "I wouldn't trade anything for this moment, and this baby—not being a man, not being a witch."

Seconds later the cry of her baby was matched by the cry of a siren, as an emergency vehicle sped to the curb. "An ambulance?" said Augusta incredulously. "But I've never felt better in my life."

Muffy glanced affectionately at George. "So _that's_ how it happens," she marveled.

"We'd better tell all our friends," the moose boy suggested.

He raised his arm, and Muffy took him by the hand. They exchanged loving looks.

* * *

to be continued 


	2. Seen Any Aliens?

Muffy and George next visited Augusta after school on Halloween. Cobwebs and cutout ghosts decorated the walls and doors in the Westboro apartment building. Muffy rang the doorbell, expecting the rabbit woman to leap out in a terrifying disguise.

To her disappointment, Augusta appeared in a white smock with a blue bib tied around her neck. "Hello, George, Muffy," she said sweetly. "I've been expecting you."

"What are you supposed to be?" asked Muffy.

"A dentist," was Augusta's reply.

"AAAAAARRRGH!" screamed George and Muffy in unison.

"You've come to see Petula, haven't you?" said Augusta, showing them in.

Muffy and George instantly headed toward the crib at the back of the living room, passing by the strange-looking jars of magical ingredients lining the shelves. They found the baby girl on her back, gazing up at a Mary Moo Cow mobile and trying to reach her toes.

"What a cutie," said George, grinning stupidly.

"She's such a little angel," said Augusta. "I can't help loving her. It's like a compulsion. I didn't think I had so much love inside of me."

"You sure got a lucky break, getting turned into a woman," Muffy remarked.

"What's wrong with boys?" George complained.

"_You_ try pushing a baby out of your body like that," Muffy challenged him. "Can you do it? I don't think so."

"You two sound like a married couple already," joked Augusta as she gleefully tickled her daughter's belly.

"I think Petula's a lovely name," Muffy remarked.

"I like the name Petula," said Augusta. "I almost chose it for myself."

The kids admired Petula for a few more minutes, and then a knock came at the door. "More pilgrims here to see the miracle baby, I suppose," said Augusta as she went to answer.

The man in the doorway was slender and of average height, wore a pair of round glasses, and clutched a pen and notepad in one hand. His face featured the elongated nose and floppy ears of a poodle.

"My name's Heath Holcombe," he said in an excited, high-pitched tone of voice. "I'm a reporter with the Weekly Spyglass."

"Are you here about the baby?" asked Augusta wearily.

"Of course."

"Come in," said Augusta flatly.

Heath examined the jars on the walls with childlike wonder as he walked slowly through Augusta's living room. "Double, double, toil and trouble, indeed," he marveled. "You must be practicing some major Wicca in here."

"I find that term offensive," said Augusta sternly. "I'm a _witch_."

"Self-avowed witch," muttered Heath as he hastily jotted some notes on his pad.

"At least I _was_ a witch at one time," Augusta clarified. "It's a long story."

"It's a big notepad," Heath told her.

George and Muffy left the pair and went to play with Petula, but Heath called out to them. "Kids, I'd like you to be a part of this interview."

"I've heard of the Weekly Spyglass," said Augusta to the reporter. "Some of the grocery stores carry it. Woman gives birth to three-headed bat boy…Zombie Hitler spotted in Belarus…World's fattest cat drags in alien corpse…that sort of pulp."

"That _is_ a bit of an exaggeration, ma'am," said Heath politely. "The bat boy had only _two_ heads, and the world's fattest cat was exposed as a raccoon in the following issue."

"No offense, Mr. Holcombe," said Augusta, "but I'd prefer to share my life story with a more _respectable_ news source."

"Ma'am, I have eyewitness accounts from four people who claim they saw you become pregnant and give birth in the space of less than two minutes," said Heath firmly. "Is the _New York Times_ going to touch that story? Not likely. I'm afraid you'll have to settle for me."

Augusta made an expression of dismay, which in this case meant crossing her eyes by looking down at her nose.

"Let's start with the miracle birth," said Heath, pressing the tip of his pen to the notepad. "How did it happen? Were extraterrestrials involved? Did they genetically modify you somehow?"

"No," was Augusta's emotionless reply. "It was a magical unicorn horn."

Heath groaned internally. _Another one of those wackos…_

"Hey, Mr. Heath," George chimed in, "is the stuff in your newspaper true? I mean, did the government really cover up the existence of moon people?"

"That story was written by my predecessor," Heath answered. "I can't vouch for his theories. And there's no need to call me Mr. Heath. 'Heath' will do fine."

"Don't encourage him, George," Muffy scolded the moose boy. "He's clearly out of his melon."

"What makes you so sure he's crazy?" George retorted. "You and I have seen…"

"Shh!" Muffy blurted out.

George gaped at the monkey girl.

"We promised not to tell," she whispered at him.

"Tell what?" asked Heath, cocking his ears curiously.

"Uh, George saw an alien in his toilet once," said Muffy.

"Toilet?" said Heath, scratching his chin thoughtfully. "Interesting. I always assumed they'd use air conditioners as a conduit for invasion. Tell me more, please."

* * *

Having obtained little useful information from Augusta, Muffy, George, and especially Petula, the dogged reporter made Buster's condominium his next destination.

"Yes?" said Bitzi, opening the door to receive him.

"My name's Heath Holcombe, ma'am," said the poodle man. "I'm a reporter for the Weekly Spyglass, and I'd like to have a word with your son."

Bitzi's angry glare nearly melted her glasses out of their rims.

"You're not coming anywhere _near _my son," she said threateningly. "You should be ashamed, writing that outrageous drivel for a living."

"I understand your objections, ma'am," said Heath defensively.

Buster and Fern hurried to the door and eyed the visitor. "Who is this guy?" Buster asked his mother.

"He's a blemish on the journalistic profession," Bitzi answered.

"I'm a reporter for the Weekly Spyglass," said Heath rapidly. "I want to talk to you about your contacts with space aliens."

"Don't come back," said Bitzi, slamming the door just as Buster uttered a dejected _Mooomm…_

Disappointed, Heath lowered his notebook and turned to leave. A growling and a tugging caught his attention. Looking down, he saw that Buster's dog, Amazon Puppy, was unlacing his shoe with her teeth.

He chuckled. "What about you?" he asked the little canine. "Seen any aliens?"

* * *

to be continued 


	3. Trick or Treat!

While the rest of the neighborhood's children were dressing up for the evening's festivities, Zeke England was sitting in a leather chair in the spacious living room of the Chanel mansion, muttering the words from a pocket New Testament that Mr. Chanel had borrowed from the Crown City Hilton. Nestor, the Spaniard house servant, approached him and bowed humbly.

"I shall be responsible for your care while the others are celebrating _el Dia de las Brujas,_" he stated in a thick but refined Spanish accent. "If you need anything, ring my bell."

The sullen-looking Pomeranian boy glanced up at him and nodded weakly.

Mickie waltzed into the room clad in a black robe and pointed hat, her face painted a warty green. "Hee hee hee!" cackled the aardvark girl, waving her ratty broomstick. "I am the ugliest in all the land! My magic mirror told me so just before it shattered!"

"The Bible says, thou shalt not suffer a witch to live," Zeke pointed out to her.

"You won't kill many witches if you stay cooped up in here all night," said Mickie mockingly.

"Now, Michaela," said Mrs. Chanel, who was entering with her husband. "We respect Zeke's desire to celebrate Halloween in his own Satan-free manner." The pair had foregone disguises in favor of their usual formal attire—a navy blue suit for Mr. Chanel, and a blue satin dress and diamond necklace for his wife.

"I shall attend to Master Ezekiel's needs while you are absent," Nestor promised the Chanels as they left through the exquisitely crafted pine doors.

The servant left Zeke alone in the living room, and the boy began to think of his former home and family. _I never had to deal with Halloween while I was with them_, he thought. _The Chanels give me nice clothes and stuff, but still, I wish I was with my real folks._

He turned his gaze back to First Corinthians, and then the doorbell chimed. Nestor hastened to answer it. Sitting in a wheelchair on the doorstep, not far from a plaque on the wall that read VAN ACCESSIBLE, was the duck boy, Van Cooper.

"Is Zeke around?" he asked politely.

"You are welcome to enter," said Nestor, scarcely bothering to look down at the lad.

Zeke was delighted to see Van roll in. "Glad you could come," he said warmly. "I s'pose the rest of your family's doing the trick-or-treat thing."

"Yeah," was Van's response. "I'm not missing much. I'm not allowed to eat candy, and I'm tired of being the robot from _Lost in Space_ every year."

"So, what do you want to do?" asked Zeke, rising to his feet. "Play checkers? Read the Bible?"

"We could watch _Veggie Tales_," Van suggested. "That's sorta like reading the Bible."

"How about _Passion of the Christ?_" said Zeke. "I got the special director's cut edition for my birthday."

"Er, I don't know," said Van hesitantly. "Doesn't that movie have a lot of blood and guts in it?"

"Yeah," Zeke agreed. "But I partake of the flesh and blood of Christ every week, so what's the big deal?"

"You make a good point," said Van, turning his wheelchair toward the big-screen TV. "Let's put it on."

* * *

Elsewhere on the block, kids were filing into the streets holding paper bags and costumed as ghosts, zombies, vampires, and Power Rangers. In the condominium Trixie Tibble had purchased after abandoning her mother-in-law's old house under the belief it was haunted, the richly-dressed hamster woman was putting the last touch on Tommy and Timmy's purple alien makeup. 

"Now you look like you really came from outer space," she commended the boys. "You're ready to go. Stick together, and promise to stay away from the old house."

"We promise, Mom," said Timmy, holding his fingers crossed behind his back.

"Let's go, Timmy," said Tommy, marching forward eagerly.

"Surrender, Earth creatures!" cried Timmy, waving his toy laser pistol at the other children on the street.

"All your candy are belong to us," said Tommy, similarly brandishing his fake weapon.

At the same time, about a dozen kids were assembling in front of Lakewood Elementary to form what Beat Simon liked to call "The Hordes of the Undead". The rabbit-aardvark girl herself was wrapped in musty bandages from head to toe; she had chosen the mummy costume specifically to hide her figure. Those accompanying her included Arthur, wearing his traditional pirate costume; D.W., dressed as a butterfly with drooping antennae; Buster, painted white like a zombie; Francine, who wore a wig of coiling serpents; Fern, who wore the trenchcoat and dark glasses of a secret agent; Binky, whose mother had accidentally washed his ghost sheet with the colors; Muffy, who had bobbed her hair like a 50's go-go girl; Sue Ellen, a masked ninja complete with plastic nunchuks; Alan, who wore an Einstein-like powdered wig and spectacles; Mavis Cutler, dressed in a metallic cyborg costume with flashing lights and swiveling sensors; and Dolly Green, who insisted that her new body was her costume.

"It's kinda weird seeing you in Amy Belnap's body," Sue Ellen remarked to her. "I wonder how Amy's enjoying being a boy on the planet Yordil."

"I imagine he must have a whole harem of girlfriends," remarked Dolly, who was happy to be a blond cat girl, even a blond _alien_ cat girl, rather than a homely rat boy.

"Dolly, why aren't you trick-or-treating with your friends in your own neighborhood?" Francine asked her.

"That's the drawback of getting a new body," said Dolly with a sigh. "I have to make a new set of friends. Nobody at my school believes I used to be Dudley. Even my adoptive parents were hard to convince."

George walked up to the group, wearing army fatigues and a gas mask. Standing in front of Beat, he asked, "Are you my mummy?" Beat giggled.

Mavis trudged robotically among her friends, saying to each, "Your candy will be assimilated. Your snacks will adapt to service us. Resistance is futile."

It was growing slightly dark, and the kids started on their way to Mrs. McGrady's house. Before they got far, a bespectacled poodle man hurried up to them. "Wait, kids!" he exclaimed.

"It's _him_ again," said George from under his gas mask.

The kids all stopped at once. "I remember you, Muffy," said Heath Holcombe, bowing slightly before the monkey girl. "You cut your hair short, but I never forget a face—especially one as lovely as yours."

Muffy blushed and grinned girlishly.

"Who's the guy with the notebook?" Arthur asked her.

"He's a newspaper reporter," Muffy replied. "We met him at Augusta's."

"He wants to write a story about the miracle baby," George added.

"Cool," said Binky. "I was a miracle baby too. I weighted fifteen pounds when I was born. My mom almost died."

"While we're all here together," said Heath excitedly. "I'd like each one of you to introduce yourself to me, and tell me about your encounters with space aliens."

Beat groaned. "Aliens…oh, bother…"

"Hey, Buster," said Mavis, elbowing the rabbit boy. "Is this guy related to you?"

"We'll start with you," said Heath, motioning towards Binky. "You're the tallest."

Binky cleared his throat. "My name's Binky Barnes. I haven't met any aliens, but if they ever decide to invade Earth, I'm willing to fight and die for my country—as long as it doesn't involve getting probed."

"What about you, Buster?" said Heath.

"Uh, I think my mom'll be sore if I talk to you," said Buster bashfully.

"You, the one with the bandages," said Heath.

"Bugger off," said Beat harshly.

"Little butterfly girl?" said Heath, turning his gaze to D.W.

"I don't know anything about aliens," said the little girl, "but I can tell you anything you need to know about unicorns."

"I've learned enough about the unicorns," said Heath with an uneasy chuckle. "I just came here from Springfield. Unicorn mania has gripped the whole city." He gestured at Sue Ellen. "You, with the curls."

"My name's Sue Ellen Krantz," said the cat girl, "and I _am_ an alien."

Everyone turned and gaped at her while Heath scribbled furiously on his pad.

Sue Ellen shrugged. "Hey, it's not a secret anymore."

"Tell me more, Sue Ellen," said Heath eagerly.

"I didn't find out my parents were aliens until recently," Sue Ellen recounted. "They're spies for the planet Yordil, and they're being held prisoner by Alliance police." The words _Alliance police_ caused Heath to raise an intrigued eyebrow. "My older sister's been missing for a week now—I think she went to join them. And she's not really my older sister, she's _me_ from three years in the future."

"Tell me the whole story," insisted Heath, adjusting his eyeglasses.

"I don't have time," Sue Ellen told him. "We're about to trick-or-treat."

"Yeah, we need to go," said George.

"Before you go," said Heath, drawing several slips of paper from his pocket, "I'd like to give each of you my card." He handed them to Sue Ellen, who distributed them among her friends. "If you feel like sharing your alien story with the Weekly Spyglass, call me."

He stood and waved farewell as the mob of kids walked away.

"Did you hear that?" said Beat through her mummy bandages. "He said he's from the Weekly Spyglass. He must be one of those nutters who publish accounts of hidden alien spacecraft and freak children with fangs and bat wings."

Dolly, her interest piqued, whirled and ran toward Heath, who had started to cross the street. "Wait, kind sir!" she called out. "I wish to learn about the children with fangs!"

* * *

to be continued 


	4. Van's New Best Friend

After visiting Mrs. McGrady, the "horde of the undead" moved on to Paige Turner's house. "Arrr," snarled Arthur. "This be thy day of reckonin'. Fill our pouches with gold doubloons, or rest at the bottom of Davy Jones' locker with the other scalawags. Fairly warned be thee, says I."

"I hope I have enough candy to go around," said the librarian, fishing through her bowl of miniature chocolate bars. "Seems there are more of you every year."

"Brains!" moaned Buster, lunging at Miss Turner. "Brrraaaiiinnnsss!"

"Sorry, I'm fresh out of brains," said the young woman. "I used them all up studying for the GMAT."

"Give me brains, or I die," insisted Buster. "Wait…I'm _already_ dead."

Having obtained candy, the kids wandered off toward the next house on the block. "Well, that's everyone," said Francine.

"What do you mean?" said Binky incredulously. "We've only been to two houses."

"No," said Francine. "I mean, every single regular character on the show has had a line of dialogue in the fanfic series. Miss Turner was the last."

"What about Miss Sweetwater?" asked Arthur.

"She moved away," Francine told him. "Or died. I don't care which."

"What about my old preschool teacher, Miss Morgan?" asked D.W.

"Nervous breakdown," said Francine quickly.

Fern, who was holding hands with Buster, looked aside and noticed that George and Muffy were similarly intertwined. "Looks like you and George are an item now," she remarked to Muffy.

"Yes, we are," said Muffy proudly. "Watching a baby being born made me realize that I'm gonna want a man in my life sooner or later."

"What about you and Van?" Fern inquired.

Muffy chuckled dismissively. "My relationship with Van has always been platonic. He's like a boy sister to me."

* * *

At Mickie's mansion, Van and Zeke were halfway through a large-screen viewing of _The Passion of the Christ._

"What's that white stuff mixed in with the blood?" asked Van.

"It's gristle," Zeke told him. "Haven't you ever slaughtered a cow before?"

"Can't say that I have," said Van, feeling a bit queasy.

"I watched my dad do it a bunch of times," Zeke continued. "He knows how to kill a cow so it doesn't suffer at all."

Van nodded, and tried to go on watching as the Roman soldiers slashed Jesus with their whips.

"The trick is to hit her at the base of the skull with a big hammer," said Zeke with relish. "The cow's dead before she knows it."

Van sighed quietly. The soldiers on the screen stripped Jesus naked and started to tear his blood-stained robe to pieces. The duck boy winced with horror.

"He let me cut the skin off once," Zeke went on. "I even cut off one of the ligaments to use as a…"

Van turned his head and glared at the pom boy.

"I'm sorry," said Zeke meekly. "I forgot you're watching the movie."

"Can we watch something else?" Van asked calmly.

"Sure," said Zeke, jumping up. "Mickie's got lots of Jane Austen movies."

"Who's she?" asked Van, following the boy to the spiral stair that led to Mickie's room.

"I think she's related to Stone Cold Steve Austin," Zeke replied.

"I don't like women's wrestling," said Van.

Zeke stopped at the base of the stairway and shrugged. "What _do_ you like?"

Van pursed his lips thoughtfully.

"I think I'll go now," he said in a tone of disappointment. "No offense, but I don't think you're best friend material."

"Best friend?" said Zeke in surprise. "What do you mean?"

"Ever since Muffy got together with George, I've been looking for a new best friend," Van explained.

"Huh?" said Zeke. "I thought you and Muffy were…"

"Nope," said Van with finality. "We never even made it to first base."

* * *

Their bags filled to the brim with candy, the gang walked back to the elementary school to find that Heath and Dolly were seated on the steps, chatting in an animated manner.

"They've been talking for more than half an hour," George observed.

They heard more of the conversation as they drew closer. "If what you say comes to pass, and the banking system collapses," said Dolly, "then shouldn't we be in a terrible rush to buy precious metals?"

"By that time, the government will have outlawed hoarding of other metals besides gold," was Heath's response. "Trust me, the international banking cartel has taken _everything_ into consideration."

"What the _devil_ are you doing, Dolly?" said Mummy Beat, taking the lead of the group. "Don't you realize you can't believe a word this man says? Vast international conspiracies, indeed."

"As I was saying," continued Heath as if no one had spoken, "after the collapse of the economy leads to widespread panic and disorder, the United Nations will send…"

"Do shut up!" yelled Beat.

Heath let out a wounded sigh as he stood up.

"I've enjoyed our time together," said Dolly to the poodle man. "But I must go now. The Greens are waiting for me."

"Wait!" Heath called out as the cat girl walked into the twilight with her empty bag. "You haven't told me anything about you!"

"Let's all go to Chicken Licken," Arthur suggested.

Heath ranted at the kids as they strolled away. "Don't go to Chicken Licken! It's people! Chicken Licken is people!"

They picked up their pace, but the undeterred reporter pursued them. "Alan!" he shouted. "Alan Powers!"

Startled that Heath had singled him out, Alan turned on his heel. "What?"

"One word," the man begged as he ground to a stop. "Just one word is all I ask."

"Let's hear it," said Alan flatly.

Heath cleared his throat ominously.

"Brainchildren."

* * *

to be continued 


	5. The Morning After

It was only one word, but it riveted Alan to the spot with dread.

"I know about your sister," said Heath quietly. "I'm sorry for what happened to her. But Springfield Tech may be only the beginning of the nightmare."

_How much does he know?_ Alan thought. _If he mentions Mansch…_

"If space aliens are responsible for the Brainchildren and their special abilities," Heath went on, "then it's your duty as a citizen of Earth to inform me."

"No more words," said Alan firmly. _If I give him another word, he'll say Mansch._

To his relief, Heath held his peace.

* * *

Arriving at his house, George laid his candy-filled pouch on the coffee table and started to pull off his gas mask. 

"Ewww!" groaned his younger sister, Sal. "Put it back on!"

"Very funny," said George as he tried to untangle a strap that was caught in his antler.

"How did you do, kids?" asked his mother, Mrs. Nordgren.

"Great!" exclaimed Sal, who had dyed her hair and nails black to pose as a vampire. "I got Snickers, Reese's Pieces, Jolly Ranchers, and crystallized ginger. But nobody let me suck their blood."

"Don't eat it all tonight," Mrs. Nordgren warned her. "Remember what I told you about Freaky Krueger."

"Who?" asked George.

"He's an old man with knives for teeth," Sal told him. "He comes on Halloween night, sneaks into bedrooms, drags kids away, and eats them—but only those kids who ate all their trick-or-treat candy."

"That's silly," said George, unzipping his camouflage shirt. "How would he even know?"

"Mom said it, so it must be true," said Sal smugly. "That's why I'm leaving one piece of candy under my pillow, and eating the rest."

* * *

George's sleep was interrupted the next morning when his sister rushed in, looking distraught. "My last piece of candy's gone!" she wailed. "I looked under my pillow, and it wasn't there!" 

"Maybe the tooth fairy took it," mumbled George.

Tommy and Timmy Tibble, meanwhile, needed a stronger impetus to get out of bed.

"Wake up, boys," said their mother with a dopey smile.

"Ooooohhh…" moaned Tommy.

"I feel terrible," said Timmy, grimacing. "My tummy hurts."

"I wish I'd died in my sleep," said Tommy miserably.

Panicked, Trixie Tibble loaded the boys into her green Volvo and sped to the hospital emergency room.

"Tommy and Timmy will be fine," said the doctor. "They just have stomach-aches from eating too much candy last night."

"Eating too much candy causes stomach-aches?" said Mrs. Tibble incredulously. "I've never read that in Oprah Magazine. Where are you getting your information?"

She marched out of the hospital in a huff, dragging the uncomfortable boys with her. "We'll find another hospital," she told them, "one where the doctors _really_ know medicine."

She was passed on the sidewalk by Augusta Winslow, who carried Petula in a baby sling and clutched some papers in her hand. The rabbit woman made her way to the hospital's billing department, and confronted the clerk indignantly.

"I'd like to know why my insurance company declined coverage of my birthing expenses," she demanded.

The young aardvark woman stopped fawning over Petula, and began to rifle through the files in her cabinet. "Wilson…Windom…Winky…Winslow. Hmm…that's odd. We have a record of your baby's birth, but no record of your pregnancy. No prenatal care, no ultrasounds, nothing. Did you just move to the area?"

"It's complicated to explain," said Augusta. "But I don't see why you'd charge me three thousand dollars, when all you did was examine us and let us go."

"Only three thousand?" the clerk marveled. "What did you do, grow her in your garden?"

"I can't pay this bill," said Augusta, swatting the papers in her hand. "I was just fired from my real estate job."

"What you need is unemployment assistance, ma'am," said the clerk disinterestedly.

"I will _not_ become a welfare mom," Augusta vowed. _I've dated welfare moms before—it's not a pretty picture._

* * *

By the Saturday after Halloween, the same hospital had a new patient—Tegan Powers, who had been judged stable enough to be transferred from Springfield. 

Her family dutifully came to visit her in the afternoon. Mr. and Mrs. Powers, and their son Alan, found the girl lying peacefully on a bed, with no alarming electrodes fastened to her forehead. Her face was slightly pallid, and the muscles in her arms and legs had withered.

"My poor little girl," said Mrs. Powers to the physician who had escorted them into the room. "Has she shown any signs of consciousness at all?"

"I'm afraid not," said the doctor in a gentle tone. Behind him, a male nurse with a white cap was washing medical instruments in a sink.

As was his habit, Mr. Powers grasped his daughter's wrist and palm. "I'm back, Tegan," he said soothingly. "I wish you'd wake up, so we can enjoy some quality time together."

Alan stroked his sister's pale cheek. "If it helps, I forgive you for what you tried to do to me," he spoke into her unheeding ears.

"Alan," said his mother curiously, "what _did_ Tegan try to do to you?"

Alan cleared his throat, searching for a reply that didn't include too many details.

"She tried to alter my personality," he answered. "She wanted me to become one of the Brainchildren."

"Alter your personality?" his father mused. "What does that mean? Is this something else that's been removed from our memories?"

The nurse at the sink perked up his floppy ears.

"You know the mind-melding thing she did?" Alan continued. "That's not all she could do. She could enter your mind, put memories there that don't belong, even change the kind of person you are. She did it to Fern."

_Uh-oh_, he thought. _Too much information._

"Fern doesn't seem all that different to me," Mrs. Powers observed.

"If she can plant memories in your mind," said Mr. Powers, "then maybe one of the other Brainchildren can _erase_ memories."

"By God, Jim, you're right," his wife blurted out.

Desperate to change the subject, Alan glanced around the hospital room for something remarkable on which to comment. "That nurse has done nothing but wash stuff ever since we got here," he finally remarked.

"Alan, is there something you're not telling us?" said his father, glaring impatiently.

"Er, I don't know," said Alan, shrugging. "My memory's a bit hazy too."

The nurse laid his wet instruments on a metal platform, then started to tiptoe toward the doorway, careful to keep his face turned away from the Powers family.

"I need to go to the bathroom," said Alan. "Will you excuse me?"

He turned to leave the room, but his first step brought him into a collision with the nurse. Startled, the uniformed man danced to regain his footing, and revealed his bespectacled face to Alan in the process.

"You!" the boy cried in astonishment.

"You didn't see nothin'," the poodle man muttered mysteriously.

"You know him?" Mrs. Powers asked her son.

"He's been spying on us!" said Alan, pointing accusingly at the man in the smock. "Where did you get that nurse uniform?"

"At an after-Halloween sale," admitted Heath Holcombe. "It was fifty percent off—I couldn't resist."

"Stay away from my family!" Alan bellowed at him. "We don't want to be in your stupid newspaper!"

"What newspaper?" asked Mr. Powers.

"He's a reporter for the Weekly Spyglass," Alan told his father. "He's been bugging me since Halloween night."

"It's not what you think," said Heath, raising his hands to calm them. "I came to the hospital to investigate a different patient—a Mr. Raymond Mansch, who somehow lost his memory completely, and became a mental infant. But when I saw my good friend Alan enter the building, I thought I'd kill two birds with one stone, figuratively speaking."

_He knows about Mansch_, thought Alan in despair.

"Figurative or literal," said Mr. Powers threateningly, "you'll stay away from our son, or I'll take out a restraining order against you."

"If you want a story for your tabloid, you can make one up," Mrs. Powers told Heath. "Isn't it all made up anyway?"

"Um…uh…" stammered Heath, slowly raising a finger to point.

Alan and his parents turned to look, keeping the corners of their eyes fixed on Heath in case he tried to flee. Their jaws dropped in unison.

In front of the picture window, a glowing, rectangular pillar of light had materialized. The electrical aura surrounding the phenomenon made the hair of everyone in the room stand on end.

"What is it?" Mrs. Powers wondered.

"It's…it's a…" Heath struggled to say.

"It must be a trick of the sun, or something," Mr. Powers theorized.

The creature that suddenly stepped out of the shaft of light was definitely no trick. It was roughly the size and shape of a human, with the exception of its abnormally long arms. Its head was not a head at all, but an opaque, crystalline sphere. It wore a uniform seemingly woven out of pure silver. To the sash around its waist were attached several alien-looking devices, one of which featured a muzzle and trigger.

Alan had seen such a being before. "It's a Thrag," he said under his breath.

"A _what?_" said Heath, turning to him abruptly.

Alan closed his mouth firmly. His parents stood motionlessly, not knowing how to react to the apparition. Tegan's eyelids fluttered.

The creature stepped behind the comatose girl's bed, and a booming voice emanated from its round helmet. "Heath Holcombe."

Understandably bashful, the poodle man straightened his glasses and crept forward. "That's me, sir," he replied meekly. "I'm Heath Holcombe."

The alien's elbow bent backwards a surprisingly long way as it reached for the weapon on its belt. Alan gasped as the uniformed being raised its arm and pointed the business end of its gun directly at Heath's head.

"You must die," it declared.

* * *

to be continued 


	6. Death is Coming

_This can't be happening_, thought Alan.

Heath, in the meantime, was too busy dodging to think. A bolt of energy flew through the spot his head had occupied a split-second earlier, and ripped a chunk of metal out of a wall beam. The Thrag took aim at Heath again, but by this time the poodle man had found a convenient object to use as a shield.

Grabbing Tegan by the arms, he quickly wrenched her into a sitting position in front of him. Her legs dangled over the bed, and her expressionless head flopped back onto his shoulder.

"What the…" said Mrs. Powers in amazement. "Leave her alone!"

To Heath's elation, the helmeted alien ceased firing for the moment, waving its gun back and forth as if trying to get a fix on him without harming Tegan. Seeing this as an opportunity to escape, he dragged the comatose girl from her bed and stepped backwards toward the hospital room's exit, holding her rigidly between himself and the Thrag's weapon.

"Put her down, you cowardly bastard!" shouted Mr. Powers as Heath hurried past him. The alien, for its part, knocked the bed over with a sweep of its long arm, and sprang in the direction of the fleeing reporter.

It didn't spring far. Alan threw himself to his knees in the creature's path, causing it to stumble and plunge to the floor. "Run!" he counseled his parents.

As Mr. and Mrs. Powers departed the room with haste, Alan slowed down the alien further by hopping along its back and helmet. Tiring of this, he took one brief over-the-shoulder glance at the crackling space portal before heading out. _I could've jumped through, and maybe found out what's going on_, he said to himself. _Or, I could've jumped through, and gotten myself killed._

He found his father waiting in the corridor; his wife was at his side, cradling the unconscious Tegan in her arms. "Where's Heath?" he inquired.

"That's what I'd like to know," said Mr. Powers, tightening his fists.

"What an awful man," Mrs. Powers remarked. "He just dumped Tegan on the floor like a sack of garbage. I hope she didn't hurt her head again."

Alan was about to start running again, when he noticed that nothing was coming out of the hospital room where his sister had laid. "Why isn't it chasing us?" he wondered.

"I don't care," said his father. "Let's get Tegan out of this place. It isn't safe."

His curiosity taking over, Alan flattened himself against the wall and shuffled to the doorway, taking a quick look inside. The bed was still overturned, but the portal and the alien had vanished. He sighed with relief.

"It's gone," he informed his parents.

"It could be hiding," said his mother. "Get back here."

"I don't think it wants to kill kids," said Alan, creeping into the room. Everywhere he looked, there was no sign of the extraterrestrial intruder.

His parents entered the suite cautiously. "Do you know what it was, Alan?" asked Mrs. Powers, clutching Tegan to her breast.

"It was a Thrag," Alan replied. "Thrags are space cops. They enforce the laws of the Alliance."

"What Alliance?" his father inquired.

"It's a federation of planets," Alan told him. "I've talked to Thrags before—they were friendly and helpful, like Earth policemen. I don't know why they'd want to kill Holcombe."

"Maybe they thought he was responsible for the cancellation of _Star Trek_," Mrs. Powers joked grimly.

"Or maybe one of his tabloid stories hit too close to the truth," her husband speculated.

While the hospital staff moved Tegan to another room and examined her, the rest of the Powers family argued with police about the details of the mysterious attack. They saw neither hide nor hair of Heath Holcombe…

…until they had seated themselves in the family car, eager to return home after a stressful visit. The relentless reporter suddenly appeared at the driver's side window, knocking loudly.

Against his better judgment, Mr. Powers lowered the window. "You've got some nerve," he snarled.

"There's something in that hospital room the aliens don't want me to see," Heath ranted. "Not only that, but your son knows more about them than he's letting on. Just who are the Thrags, exactly, and how are they tied in with the Brainchildren? You may think it's none of my business, but it _is_ my business, and the business of every freedom-loving man, woman, and child on Earth."

"You're crazy," said Mr. Powers, raising the window.

"It's that kind of thinking that's going to get this planet conquered!" yelled Heath as the car pulled away from him.

* * *

Being nearly killed by a Thrag had only doubled the Weekly Spyglass reporter's determination. Seeing he would get nowhere with the Powers family, he sought out the one person in Elwood City whom he had heard openly confess to being an alien.

"Yes, I know who the Thrags are," Sue Ellen related. "They're like the policemen of the galaxy—except they're not men, really. They don't have male and female, boy and girl, like we do."

"Fascinating," muttered Heath, scribbling on his notepad. The poodle man, now wearing a blue overcoat, fedora, and dark glasses, had taken a seat next to the girl in the Krantz living room.

"The Thrags I met were nice," Sue Ellen went on. "They helped us rescue Buster when he was abducted by Yordilians. Maybe there are bad Thrags—I don't know."

"I should like to talk to Buster about his experience as an abductee," said Heath. "Unfortunately, his mother won't allow it."

"You could try George," Sue Ellen suggested. "He and Buster are always talking about alien stuff."

Heath looked at his watch. "You've been very helpful," he said, rising quickly.

"You're leaving already?" said Sue Ellen. "You just got here."

"I don't know what kind of device the Thrags are using to determine my location," said Heath in a hurried tone, "but I don't dare stay in the same place too long."

His next stop was George's house, where Mr. Nordgren redirected him to Muffy's condo. Heath was welcomed in by Mrs. Crosswire, and found the two children watching TV while holding hands.

"Hey ho," he greeted them, tipping his hat politely.

"It's that nutty reporter again," moaned George.

"He may be nutty," said Muffy wistfully, "but he's an impeccable judge of female beauty."

Heath went right to the point, holding up a sketch he had made of a round-headed figure. "Have you seen this alien?" he inquired.

Muffy and George immediately recognized the humanoid shape—they had seen similar creatures.

George leaned over to his girlfriend. "We should tell him," he whispered in her ear.

"_You_ tell him," Muffy whispered back. "I made a promise."

George swallowed and looked at Heath seriously. "Yes," he replied, "we have. Aliens like that one arrested the Belnaps."

"Belnaps?" said Heath curiously.

"A mom and three girls who lived here for a while," George continued. "They turned out to be aliens themselves—illegal aliens."

"I've got pictures," said Muffy, bounding off the couch.

She led George and Heath to her computer, where a photo directory contained images she had taken with her digital camera. Among them were several high-resolution pictures of the Belnap triplets at a picnic with the rest of Mrs. Krantz' fifth-grade class.

"They all looked the same," Muffy commented. "We could only tell them apart from the letters on their foreheads."

Noticing Heath's intrigued expression, George asked, "Do you recognize them?"

The poodle man shook his head. "No, I'm afraid not."

"That one's Becky," said George, pointing at one of the cat girls on the screen. "She was my girlfriend for a while."

"She has a lovely face," Heath remarked.

"She does," George agreed. "I guess that's why I…"

He stopped in mid-sentence, feeling a tingling in his antlers.

"George?" said Muffy in a concerned tone.

"It's…happening…again," muttered the moose boy.

Muffy's eyes went wide with panic. "Omigosh…they're here…"

Heath was the last of the three to notice the portal that had appeared without warning, and the armed, uniformed alien that had begun to step through it.

He leaped upward, nearly knocking over George and Muffy. Reaching into the folds of his overcoat, he drew out a black revolver and raised it toward the menacing figure.

Before he could get off a shot, the alien's weapon discharged a ray directly into his chest. Heath hurtled backwards, his overcoat flapping, the gun in his hand spinning across the room. Muffy screamed with fright.

As Heath landed on the carpet and became lifeless, his revolver hit the floor between the two children. George, certain that the Thrag would come after them next, quickly reached for the weapon and lifted it into the air.

"He's gonna kill us!" Muffy shrieked.

George raised his head in time to see the alien swiveling its long arm so that the barrel of its firearm now faced him and Muffy. Death was coming, and he knew he had to act bravely and promptly.

Sucking up his breath, he pointed Heath's revolver at the Thrag and squeezed the trigger…

* * *

to be continued 


	7. Bad Thrags

_Bad Thrags, bad Thrags_

_Whatcha gonna do_

_Whatcha gonna do_

_When they come for you?_

* * *

The blast of the revolver echoed through Muffy's condominium. The powerful recoil hurled George onto his back, causing him to lose his grip on the gun.

The sphere-headed alien halted and began to stagger. Green liquid began to ooze from a bullet-shaped hole in what appeared to be its abdomen.

When Muffy took her hands from her ears, she was relieved to see that the Thrag had pointed its firearm away from them and was limping toward the space portal, faint whining sounds emerging from its round helmet. Once it had vanished from her view, the shimmering gateway faded out.

George sat up, shaking his head, to find Muffy looking over the charred spot on Heath's chest. "He's dead," the monkey girl told him.

"What about the alien?" asked George.

"You wounded him," replied Muffy. "He went back where he came from."

George turned and stared in wonderment at the revolver lying innocently at his feet. _I shot somebody_, he realized. _I almost committed murder._

"We'd better get out of here, George," said Muffy just as her mother scurried into the room, screaming in terror.

"My baby!" wailed Mrs. Crosswire, wrapping her arms around her daughter. "Did the man hurt you? Georgie, you were so brave to shoot him with that…that _gun_…?"

George backed away nervously from the frantic woman.

"Where did that gun come from?" shouted Mrs. Crosswire. "You know we don't allow guns in our house! Who brought it in?"

"Listen to me, Mom," said Muffy, grabbing her boyfriend by the hand. "Call the police, call Dad, get as far away from here as possible, and don't ask questions."

"Come back here!" Mrs. Crosswire called after them as they raced down the hallway. "Don't leave me here alone with a dead body!"

Muffy and George ran like bats out of hell until they were standing across the street from the condominium complex. "They'll come back for us, I know it," the monkey girl panted. "They don't want any witnesses."

"I'm afraid, Muffy," admitted George.

"You _can't_ be afraid," Muffy complained. "You're my _boyfriend_."

"Let's go find Augusta," George suggested. "Maybe she has some magical thing that'll protect us."

They hurried down the street, not bothering to hold hands or say hello to the friends they passed on the way to the Westboro building. Reaching Augusta's door, they opened it and charged in unannounced.

Augusta quickly threw a rag over the baby on her chest when she saw the children enter. "Can I help you?" she inquired.

Before Muffy could open her mouth, she noticed that Augusta had a very familiar visitor.

"Oh, hi, Angela," she said to the rat woman who was seated in the easy chair.

"Nice to see you, Muffy," said Angela Ratburn pleasantly. "Now that you're here, maybe you can talk some sense into Augusta."

"What kind of sense?" Muffy asked her good friend.

"She can't see the wisdom of giving up her baby for adoption," said Angela seriously.

Muffy scowled. "I tried to talk some sense into _you_. It didn't work."

Angela stood up, and her faded floral dress fell down around her ankles. "Graham is going to live with Prunella's family," she informed Muffy. "He'll be happy with them."

"Aliens are trying to kill us," George chimed in.

"Don't listen to her, Augusta," said Muffy to the rabbit woman. "She's your baby. You gave birth to her fair and square."

"You and I know that," said Augusta glumly, "but my insurance company and my real estate agency don't believe Petula's really mine."

"Aliens are trying to kill us," George repeated.

"Those cretins!" said Muffy indignantly. "Let me talk to them. If they don't believe you, they'll believe a Crosswire."

"It's no use," insisted Augusta as she moved Petula aside and pulled up the neck of her blouse. "I conceived and gave birth in the space of thirty seconds. No insurance company will ever buy that story. I'm stuck with a hospital bill I can't afford to pay, because I don't have a job."

"Aliens are trying to kill us," said George for the third time.

"I'm only trying to help you," said Angela earnestly. "It's no shame to give your baby to someone who can take better care of her. You became a mother by accident. You became a _woman_ by accident. This is not the life you asked for, and you don't have to live it."

"Yes, I do," said Augusta firmly, "because I _love_ Petula."

"What do you know about motherhood?" Angela chided her. "You were a man for most of your life."

"The debate is over," said Augusta, who then kissed her baby on the forehead. Turning to George, she asked, "What was that you said about aliens trying to kill you?"

Muffy stepped forward. "George thought you might have a magic stone, or a magic talisman, or a lucky rabbit's foot"—Augusta winced visibly—"or something magical to keep us safe from the aliens."

Augusta chuckled. "First, I have my hands full with Petula, so I hardly have time to sleep. Second, if I _did_ create a magical device to protect you from alien attack, it'd be too heavy for you to carry." Her eyes widened suddenly. "Third, the aliens are standing behind you at this very moment."

Muffy and George whirled. To their horror, a pair of armed Thrags was towering over them…

* * *

to be continued 


	8. Provision Theta

George and Muffy cried out in terror, certain that their doom had arrived. Augusta grasped baby Petula to her shoulder, while Angela, for once, was eager for the police to arrive.

To their collective surprise, the two aliens remained still and didn't reach for their energy weapons.

"Your lives are in danger," stated one of the Thrags.

"Uh, yeah," said George. "From _you_."

"We mean you no harm," said the other Thrag. "You must come with us. It's for your own safety."

"We're not going without a fight!" growled Muffy, clenching her fists. "Angela, Augusta, kick their butts."

Before the two women had a chance to assume fighting positions, the Thrags put out their long arms and grabbed Muffy and George by the armpits. The kids protested loudly as the cold, gloved hands lifted them off the floor. They wriggled in an attempt to break free, but the unnatural strength of the Thrags pinned them solidly in place.

The aliens turned, Muffy and George helplessly turning with them. Two columns of light formed, and the Thrags marched through with their captives, disappearing to parts unknown.

"Shouldn't we do something?" said Angela nervously.

"I _did_ do something," was Augusta's response. "I protected my baby."

Three seconds and thousands of light-years later, George and Muffy were dropped on their knees in a chamber about the size of a classroom, where about a dozen Thrags labored over electronic consoles. The two children jumped to their feet and tried to run from the aliens, but promptly collided with a transparent barrier that made their noses appear grotesquely flat.

"I know my rights!" Muffy ranted. "I want my lawyer!"

"Your cellular phone is still operational," one of the Thrags told her. "You may call whom you please—but I must warn you, the roaming charges are murder."

George and Muffy continued to shout, but the aliens went about their tasks, oblivious to the kids' complaints. Before long they gave up and seated themselves on the hard, but pleasantly warm, floor.

"How do we know they can even hear us?" sighed Muffy. "They don't have ears."

"I think they have ears under their helmets," said George.

"If they even have _heads_," said Muffy, sinking her chin into her palms.

"Dr. Portinari was a lot nicer than these aliens," George reflected.

"I wonder what would've happened if Dr. Portinari had married Augusta," Muffy fantasized. "What would their children have looked like?"

"A child usually looks like a cross between the mother and the father," George told her.

"Really?" said Muffy, astonished. "Well, that explains Beat."

Minutes that felt like hours passed by.

"I spy with my little eye something that starts with A," said Muffy lazily.

"Alien," George responded.

"You're cheating," Muffy accused him.

They waited impatiently for their fate to be decided. The Thrags stood like statues at their control stations, occasionally communicating with each other using scraping noises.

"If I were Augusta," said Muffy, "I wouldn't give up my baby in a million years."

"If I were Augusta," said George, "I'd be totally freaked out."

A moment later the monotony was broken by the arrival of a group of people—four Thrags escorting six humans. George and Muffy gasped.

"There you are, Muffin!" exclaimed Mr. Crosswire. "Did the aliens hurt you? Did they humiliate you in any way?"

"I, uh, think one of them peeked under my skirt," said Muffy, smiling with delight at seeing her parents and baby brother, Tyson.

George was also gratified by the sight of his family. "Mom, Dad, Sal, you're not gonna believe what happened to us."

"Abducted by aliens," said Mrs. Nordgren flatly. "We know."

One of the Thrags pushed a button, allowing Muffy and George to penetrate their cell's invisible walls. They embraced their parents with tears of relief.

Mr. Nordgren turned to the alien nearest him. "You have no right to take us away from our homes like this," he said angrily.

"Perhaps not," the Thrag replied emotionlessly, "but you'll be grateful that we did."

"This has something to do with the man who was killed, doesn't it?" Mrs. Crosswire demanded to know. Tyson wiggled in her arms, whining for nourishment.

"If you mean Heath Holcombe, it has _everything_ to do with him," said the Thrag. "Your children, the ones known as Muffy and George, are witnesses to his murder at the hands of a rogue element in our ranks. We did not authorize his killing, nor do we condone it."

"Is that true, Georgie?" Sal inquired of her older brother. "Did you see somebody get murdered?"

George nodded.

"That's so cool," said the little moose girl.

"No, it's _not_ cool," George insisted. _Having to shoot a person to save your own life is far from cool_, he thought.

"_Aliens_ killed him?" said Mrs. Crosswire in wonderment. "Why?"

"Hopefully our investigation will provide an answer to that question," replied the Thrag. "As for the question of why you're all here, it should be obvious that the parties responsible for Holcombe's murder will attempt to eliminate any eyewitnesses, or threaten their loved ones to prevent them from testifying."

"Put us back on Earth," Mr. Crosswire insisted. "We'll take our chances."

"But we will not take _ours_," said the Thrag with finality. "As of this moment, you are all subject to Provision Theta. Participation is mandatory."

"What's Provision Theta?" asked Mr. Nordgren.

"You have a similar institution on Earth," answered the alien. "I believe it's called the Witness Protection Program."

* * *

to be continued 


	9. Where the Sun Don't Shine

"Now listen here, whatever your name is," said Mr. Crosswire, waving his finger at the Thrag.

"I am Lieutenant T'l'p'g'r of the Alliance Star Police," the alien introduced himself.

"Now listen here, you," Mr. Crosswire went on. "I have a car business to operate. Every day I'm gone costs the business money. Do you know what money is? Do you aliens even _use_ money?"

"We Thrags are very fond of making money," T'l'p'g'r admitted. "We're asexual, so we don't have much else to do."

Muffy stepped forward. "Why is any of this necessary?" she inquired of the alien. "Why not just look for the Thrag with the bullet wound, and arrest him—er, it?"

"That is but one of the strategies we will employ in our search for the perpetrator," said T'l'p'g'r. "Do not fear, Earth girl. The Thrag Star Police are renowned throughout the galaxy. We're strong, agile, fearless, well-trained, highly intelligent, and we never forget a face."

_Never forget a face_. The words set off a klaxon of alarm in George's mind.

"But you don't _have_ faces!" exclaimed Muffy.

The alien's helmet seemed to droop slightly. "The Thrags are also renowned for their ugliness—we can't even bear to look upon each other."

"Then it's a good thing you're asexual," Mrs. Nordgren quipped.

"This has all been very pleasant," said her husband to the Thrag. "You've proven to us that intelligent life exists on other worlds, and we're grateful for that. But as for your so-called witness protection program, frankly, you can take it and stick it where the sun don't shine."

"This station qualifies as such a place," said T'l'p'g'r. "Or were you thinking of a location on Earth? Seattle, perhaps?"

Mrs. Crosswire started to chuckle involuntarily.

One of the Thrags flipped a switch on a console, and a large, arch-shaped portal came into view in front of the Earth people. "Once you step through this gateway," T'l'p'g'r told them, "the Provision Theta administrator will brief you on your new home and new identities. Her department is independent of the Thrag Star Police, so you can rest assured that she's not a part of the conspiracy within our ranks."

"I'm not ready to rest assured just yet," said Mr. Crosswire, glaring at the alien's crystalline head. "How long do you expect us to stay at this 'new home'?"

"Until the case is brought to trial," the Thrag replied. "Depending on the outcome, you will have the option to remain in the program or return to your planet of origin. Have no fear—Alliance justice is swift."

All eight—Muffy, her parents, her brother Tyson, George, his parents, his sister Sal—paused before the opaque gateway, fearing to go in. "Are there snakes in there?" asked Sal eagerly.

"All major Alliance cities have extremely effective pest control programs," T'l'p'g'r replied.

"That means they _kill_ snakes," George whispered to his little sister.

"But I _like_ snakes," moaned Sal. _And they call themselves advanced_, she thought bitterly.

"Wait," said Muffy abruptly. "You said _major cities_. How major _are_ they?"

"The Earth city you call Paris is a mere village in comparison," the Thrag officer assured her.

A thrill ran through Muffy's heart. "Do they have shopping?" she asked T'l'p'g'r. "Fine dining? Tasteful cultural events?"

"Enough to last you ten human lifetimes," said the alien, nodding its helmet.

Grinning with joy, Muffy looked around at her fellow Earthlings, who still appeared nervous and hesitant. "What are you waiting for?" she chided them. "You're not gonna pass on a chance like _this_, are you?"

"Yes, Muffy, we are," answered Mr. Crosswire. She could tell that her father's patience was being severely tested, as he always called her Muffin when he was contented.

"Well, I'm not," said Muffy, springing toward the portal. "Catch me if you can!"

Her parents had only a split-second to react before the monkey girl vanished through the glowing passageway.

"Muffy, wait!" cried Mrs. Crosswire, almost dropping Tyson in horror. "Your slip is showing!"

George promptly broke away from his parents and pursued Muffy into the space portal. "Come back!" shouted Mrs. Nordgren, pursuing him in vain.

"She's my girlfriend!" George yelled back. "I'm responsible for…" Then he was gone.

The parents gave each other confused and consternated looks. "Well, let's go after them," Mr. Nordgren suggested.

"That stargate thing could lead to anywhere in the universe," said his wife with apprehension.

"As if we know exactly where we are _now_," said the moose man with a shrug. "Come on, Sal, we're going after…Sal?"

At that moment, his little daughter was stepping into a dimly lit room with a lush red carpet and what appeared to be chestnut paneling on the walls. The air in the room carried a tinge of lavender and ionization. George and Muffy were conversing quietly in front of the desk, which was nearly twice as tall as they were.

"I just remembered something," George told Muffy. "Remember when Heath said he never forgot a face?"

"Of course," replied Muffy, striking an attractive pose.

"He talked to Dolly the whole time we were trick-or-treating," George recalled. "But when he looked at your picture of the Belnaps, he didn't recognize them, even though Dolly's in Amy Belnap's body."

"So?" said Muffy indifferently.

"If he _had_ recognized Dolly from the picture, he would've wanted to interview her right away," George continued. "I _told_ him that the Belnaps were aliens."

"Cut him some slack, George," said Muffy. "He was nearing the end of his life."

"It seems really fishy to me," George mused.

"I've got no time to solve mysteries now," said Muffy, dancing around excitedly. "I'm about to get my first taste of extraterrestrial _haute couture_." George gave her a blank look. "That means _hot culture_ in French."

"Look at that!" cried Sal suddenly. "It's a giant troll!"

Muffy and George turned their gaze to Sal's side of the room. A huge creature had entered through a wide doorway, its bulky arms swinging, the braided black hair on its chin quivering as it breathed in and out. A red tunic covered its torso and descended to its knees. As it stomped forward, the kids noted that it was three to four times their height, and crept backwards nervously.

"Welcome," said the creature as it took a seat behind the massive desk. It spoke in a loud, harsh bass voice, and its pupils waved back and forth in its ellipse-shaped eyes. "I am Glieph Lekbog, Provision Theta administrator."

Sal leaned over to her brother. "He looks scary," she whispered.

The alien being had apparently overhead the exchange. "I'm female," she informed the kids. "The males of my species are hairless. That's one way to tell the difference."

"Er, I'm Muffy Crosswire," said Muffy, not daring to walk any closer to the imposing alien official. "This is my boyfriend, George Nordgren, and his little sister, Sal. We're from Elwood City, on Earth."

Glieph fixed her wandering gaze on George. "Your name is now George Elwood," she declared.

"Huh?" said the astonished boy.

Muffy started to giggle. "You're named after your city now," she said mockingly.

The alien turned her eyes to Muffy. "Your name is now Muffy Starbucks," she stated.

Muffy's jaw dropped. "You're coffee," Sal derided her.

"But…but…you can't name me after the coffee guy," Muffy protested. "It's too conspicuous."

"Very well," said the alien. "Your name is now Muff Doggy Dog."

"Muffy Starbucks is a _fabulous_ name," said Muffy hastily.

* * *

to be continued 


	10. Wish I May, Wish I Might

Far, far away on Earth, Van and his sister Odette were wandering lazily down the sidewalk, enjoying the warmer weather. Odette had grown significantly, and often had to lower her neck to avoid hitting low tree limbs.

"If April's not back within a week," she told her brother, "I'm gonna make a move on her boyfriend."

Van shook his head. "That wouldn't be nice. What if April still wants him?"

"If she doesn't see him for a week," Odette responded, "then either she's no longer interested in him, or she's dead."

They moved on, Odette walking and Van rolling, in silence for a moment.

Van spoke up hesitantly. "I don't think this is working, Odette."

"What's wrong?" asked the swan girl. "Can't your big sister be your best friend?"

Van looked down at his knees. "Since we've been together, all you've done is talk about boyfriends," he went on. "I think you'd rather have a boyfriend than spend time with me."

"You read my mind," said Odette flatly.

Van sighed, looked down the street, and noticed that two of his classmates were approaching from the other end of the block. "Hey, there's Arthur and Francine," he said, hope returning to his voice. "They don't look like they're doing much. Maybe they'll let me hang out with them."

"I still say you should find yourself a new girlfriend," Odette called after him as he revved his wheelchair forward.

The swan girl watched dutifully but impatiently as Van struck up a conversation with Arthur and Francine. "Where are you going on this beautiful day?" he asked politely.

"To Augusta's place," replied Francine.

"Augusta...?" Van swallowed. "You mean the witch lady?"

"She used to be a witch," said Arthur. "Now she's a mom."

"You can come along if you want," said Francine with an inviting smile. "Have you seen her new baby?"

"Uh, no," said Van. "Sure, I'll come."

The duck boy was nervous, as he had never been inside Augusta's apartment before, and had heard strange stories. _Still_, he thought, _it's better than listening to Odette talk about her crushes._

Francine and Arthur walked quickly, so he had to run his chair at full speed to keep up. They arrived at Francine's apartment building, and Arthur rang the bell at Augusta's first-floor apartment.

The rabbit woman, her face a mask of weariness, welcomed them inside. Petula lay in the crib next to the shelves of magical substances, waving her tiny limbs and whining uncomfortably.

"You're just in time," Augusta told the kids.

"For what?" Van asked her. "The witching hour?"

"Very funny," said Augusta, taking a seat in front of her desk. Before her stood an apparatus assembled out of multicolored stones and held together with duct tape. Cradled within the object was the now-dimmed unicorn horn that had belonged to the late Greta von Horstein.

"We heard you lost your job," said Arthur helpfully. "Is there anything we can do?"

"I'm afraid not," said Augusta with a resigned tone, "but thanks for offering. No, I've decided upon my own solution."

"Hey, I remember that thing," said Van, peering suspiciously at the horn. "I tried to make a wish on it, and I ended up with enough back pain to sink a whale."

"Uh, Van?" said Francine. "That was _your_ fault. You wished you could fly, and wings started growing out of your back."

"Geez," reflected the duck boy. "I'd look like a total freak if I had wings."

"What's your solution?" Arthur asked Augusta.

The woman gave him a serious look. "Angela's right," she admitted. "As much as I love Petula, I'm not ready for motherhood."

"Then what will you do?" asked Francine, concerned.

"The only thing I can do," Augusta replied. "Give her up for adoption."

Arthur looked downcast. "That must be the toughest thing in the world."

Augusta strained to speak as tears filled her eyes. "You've noticed that I still have the unicorn horn. I've placed it in this mystical field generator to make the remaining magically charged particles gravitate to the pointed end. If the concentration is high enough, I may be able to get one more wish out of it."

"Wow," Francine marveled. "I didn't know you could do that."

"What will you wish for?" asked Arthur.

Augusta's cheeks became wet. "To be changed into another form, so that my love for Petula won't be as strong as it is now."

Francine gaped. "You want to turn into a man again?"

"No," replied Augusta, wiping her face with a cloth. "If I do that, I won't get another chance at motherhood. I intend to turn myself into a little girl."

"Why a little girl?" asked Van curiously.

"Because," said Augusta, lifting the unicorn horn from its support, "I can't be a true mother, let alone raise a daughter, if I haven't experienced growing up as a girl myself."

"How little?" inquired Arthur. "Five? Six?"

"I think ten is a good age," said the rabbit woman as she raised the horn into the air. "Maybe I'll get to join your class."

_Omigosh_, thought Arthur and Francine at the same time. _She's gonna make the wish right now..._

Augusta didn't bother to even stand. "I wish to be transformed into a ten-year-old girl," she uttered.

The kids held their breaths, but nothing happened.

"I said, I wish to be a ten-year-old girl," Augusta repeated, but she remained as she was.

"I guess it's only three to a customer," Francine remarked.

Dejected, Augusta lowered the horn and gripped it tightly with both hands. "It was worth a shot," she said quietly.

Van rolled forward slightly. "Maybe it didn't work because you wished for something you don't really want," he suggested. "Let me take another whack at it."

"Here, you can have it," said Augusta in discouragement. She passed the apparently useless horn to the duck boy, who held it up in front of his face.

"Be careful, Van," Arthur cautioned him. "You might get what you wish for."

Van gazed at the spiraling horn and took a deep breath. "I wish I..."

Before he could finish, the horn blew to bits in his hands.

The force of the explosion knocked his wheelchair onto its side, and left him sprawled on the floor. Arthur, Francine, and Augusta screamed in terror.

When she had recovered from the shock, Francine hurried to the side of the fallen boy, whose entire right side was covered in a fine gray dust. "Van! Are you okay?"

The duck boy quivered and moaned. As Augusta righted his wheelchair, Arthur and Francine turned Van over and tried to assess his condition.

"I don't think he's hurt," said Arthur, although something seemed different about his friend--something he couldn't put his finger on.

Van coughed up a bit of dust, then bolted upright. "Did you get the license number of that nuclear warhead?" he asked the other kids.

"I'm glad you're all right," said Francine, brushing dust from the boy's beak.

"Not half as glad as I am," said Van with a giggle.

"What happened to your voice?" asked Arthur. "You sound different."

"Yeah, I do," Van acknowledged. "That weird powder must be irritating my throat."

"Help him into his chair," said Augusta, rolling Van's wheelchair up to his back.

Francine and Arthur grabbed their friend's arms and pulled up with all their might. To the astonishment of all three, Van heaved himself upward using his own legs.

"Huh?" said the duck boy in wonder. "What did I just do?"

"Yeah, Van," said Arthur. "What _did_ you just do?"

He and Francine slowly released their grip on Van. Everyone in the room gasped in amazement as he straightened his knees and stood up under his own power.

No one said a word as he put one sneakered foot ahead of him, then another. "I...can...walk," he muttered in disbelief.

"It's a miracle," said Arthur, his eyes nearly bulging through his lenses.

"I can walk! I can walk!" cheered Van, hopping and waving his arms. "I got my wish!"

"Omigosh, Van," gushed Francine, tears of happiness filling her eyes.

Augusta, noticing something seriously amiss, approached the boy just as he ran impetuously forward and collided with the wall. "Let's have a look at you," she urged him.

"I'll wash myself later," said Van, trying to dodge her hands. "Right now I want to walk, and run, and jump, and do somersaults, and..."

As he was making a long leap, his eyes widened in consternation.

Augusta caught him as he landed. "Into the bathroom with you," she ordered.

"I...I don't feel right," said Van as the rabbit woman ushered him through a doorway.

The washroom door closed as Arthur and Francine looked on. "Think we should call an ambulance?" said Francine.

Arthur opened his mouth, but a high-pitched scream cut him off.

"Oh, gosh, he's hurt!" exclaimed Francine.

Throwing propriety out the window, she threw open the door and charged into the bathroom, Arthur close behind. Van stood next to Augusta, his face frozen in shock, his pants lying around his ankles. The lower part of his body was naked, so Arthur and Francine instantly perceived what was ailing him. Horrified, they put their hands over their mouths.

"Somehow he got _my_ wish," Augusta told them.

She pulled Van's pants around his waist as Arthur and Francine slowly backed out of the washroom, not wanting to believe what they had seen. They stared wordlessly at each other while Augusta carried the petrified Van to the couch and set him down gently.

"How do you feel, Van?" she asked the frightened boy.

"W-weird," Van stammered. "R-really w-weird."

Arthur and Francine took seats on each side of him. Seconds later, he relaxed his muscles and started to speak freely.

"I don't get it," he said softly. "I didn't wish to be a girl. I was about to wish I could walk, and the thing blew up in my face."

"I don't know how to explain it," said Augusta apologetically. "All I know is, it's my fault. I'm sorry."

"Please make another horn so I can change back," pleaded Van in a girlish voice.

Augusta only shook her head weakly.

Van lowered _her_ face. "Am I...am I stuck like this?"

"I'm afraid so," said Augusta, "unless another one of Francine's unicorn friends dies."

"Hey!" Francine snapped at her.

Arthur could only gape slackjawed at his newly female friend. "Oh, geez...I don't know what to say..."

"Well," said Van with a bit more strength, "I'd rather be a girl who can walk than a boy who can't."

"You're already an honorary girl," said Francine, attempting a grin. "Now you're a _real_ one."

A smile spread over Van's lips. "I don't care if I'm a girl," she said. "I just want to try out my new legs, in case the spell isn't permanent."

Leaving the wheelchair behind, Arthur and Francine escorted the transformed Van to the apartment building's exit, where Odette was waiting. When she saw her brother-turned-sister walking independently, she had to grab a drainpipe to steady herself.

"Look, Odette," said Van proudly. "I can walk. It's magic."

The swan girl gaped as Van performed a pirouette before her eyes. "Van...your...wheelchair..."

Van bounded onto the grass, only to stumble and fall. She looked down to find that one of her sneakers had fallen off. "I'll have to get new shoes," she said casually. "These don't fit anymore."

Francine and Arthur lent their shoulders to brace up Odette. "No, you're not dreaming," Arthur assured the stupefied girl.

Van, wearing only one shoe, limped toward her older sister. "Can you teach me how to do girl things?" she requested.

----

to be continued


	11. Walk Like a Girl

Mere seconds later, Odette burst through the door of her house, breathing heavily and frantically. "Mom! Dad!" she called to her parents, who were working together to dress baby Megan. "Van's walking! I saw him!"

"Yeah, right," said Dallin, who was playing a video game.

"You sure it wasn't a Bigfoot?" said Logan. Her older brother was relaxing on the couch with a copy of _The Great Gatsby_, which his high-school English class required him to read.

"See for yourself," said Odette as Arthur, Francine, and the stocking-clad Girl Van sped past her into the Cooper home.

Excited beyond measure, Van performed leaps, twirls, and jumping jacks as her astonished family looked on. Mrs. Cooper dropped the baby jumper she was holding. "It's a miracle," she said under her breath.

"Dude," marveled Logan, stumped for words. "It's like…dude."

"How…how…" Mr. Cooper stammered, jumping aside to avoid the running duck girl.

"Isn't it great?" said Arthur with a grin. "This is how the unicorn horn was _supposed_ to work."

Dallin leaped to his feet and chased after Van, who was hopping over every piece of furniture she could find, knocking down several potted plants in the process.

"Where's his wheelchair?" asked Mrs. Cooper as she scooped up the dirt from the floor.

"It's at Augusta's place," Francine replied.

The duck woman narrowed her eyes. "The witch lady?" she said suspiciously. "What was he doing _there?_"

Finally tired, Van collapsed onto the couch next to Logan's feet, panting with delight. "This is awesome," she gushed. "I'm so excited, I completely forgot I was a girl."

"A _girl?_" Mrs. Cooper blurted out.

"Oh, I forgot to mention that," said Van in a casual tone. "The same magic spell that made me walk turned me into a girl. That part was an accident."

"Dude, you _sound_ like a girl," said Logan, intrigued.

Mrs. Cooper scrutinized her son/daughter carefully. "You _are_ a girl," she acknowledged. "Who are you? Van doesn't have a twin sister."

"I _am_ Van," said the duck girl, rising to her feet with ease. "I'm gonna need new clothes—shoes and dresses and stuff. It looks like I'm gonna be a girl for a long time."

"It's true," Arthur assured the woman of the house. "Francine and I saw him change."

Mrs. Cooper folded her arms. "This is some sort of silly prank," she said sternly. "Where's the _real_ Van?"

"I'm right here!" said Girl Van, emotion building in her voice.

"She doesn't believe us," Arthur said to Francine. "Let's go get Augusta."

"Right," said Francine incredulously. "Like she's gonna believe the 'witch lady'."

Van hurried to the side of Dallin, who had picked up his joystick. "Dallin knows who I am," she said hopefully. "Who am I, Dallin?"

Her little brother looked up. "A strange girl wearing Van's clothes," he said matter-of-factly.

"I am _not_ a strange girl!" insisted Van. Her eyes started filling with tears as she approached Odette. "You know who I am, Odette. Tell them."

"I don't know who you are," said the swan girl, who sounded confused. "You look like Van, you act like Van, but Van's not a girl."

Distraught, Van began to weep. "What a wuss," said Logan derisively. "Van never cries like that. You can't be him."

The sobbing duck girl fled from the house, passing between Francine and Arthur, who promptly followed. Leaving the Coopers' front door open, they located Van in the sandbox, wiping her eyes with her fists.

"They don't believe it's me," she wailed. "I can finally walk again, and my family doesn't even care." She sniffled, sucking up the mucus from her beak. "Why am I crying? I don't cry."

Francine took a seat in the sand next to her. "Girls have more feelings than boys," she explained. "If you want, I can teach you how to bottle up your tears."

"What can I do?" said Girl Van dolefully. "I don't have a home anymore. I'm so scared."

"What do you mean, you don't have a home?" asked Odette, who had followed the trio to the sandbox. "Are you an orphan?"

A tear rolled out of Van's left eye as she gazed up at her sister. "Uh, yes," she lied. "I'm an orphan. My parents were killed in a…a can opener accident."

"Who are you?" inquired Odette gently. "Why are you wearing my brother's clothes?"

Van wiped her beak with her sleeve. "My name's…my name's…"

"Her name's Vanessa," Arthur chimed in. Francine nodded in agreement.

"That's right," said Van, sniffling. "I'm Vanessa. I'm wearing Van's clothes because…because I didn't have any clothes, and he loaned me his."

"Where is he?" asked Odette.

"He should be easy to find," Francine joked. "Just look for a naked kid in a wheelchair."

"You said you were at Augusta's," Odette recalled.

Her parents emerged from the house, determination on their faces. "Then that's where we're going," announced Mr. Cooper.

They marched toward the family Buick as Arthur and Francine helped Van, now known as Vanessa, to step out of the sandbox. "Imagine what they'll think when they get to Augusta's and see your wheelchair there," said Arthur to the duck girl.

"We'd better get there before they do," said Francine.

"You're right," said Vanessa, looking at her stocking feet through moist eyes. "But if we're gonna outrun a car, I'll need some new shoes." She reached down and pulled up her jeans slightly. "My pants are loose, too."

"Maybe I have some pants that'll fit you," said Arthur.

"I'm a girl now," Vanessa reminded him. "Let's go to Muffy's. She has lots of clothes and shoes."

"You want to dress like _Muffy?_" said Francine in bewilderment.

"Why not?" said Vanessa, starting down the sidewalk. "She has great fashion sense."

Francine followed, hoping to discourage her. "Not everybody knows you're a girl," she warned. "If they see you in one of Muffy's dresses, they'll laugh."

"Yeah," said Arthur, flanking Vanessa on the right. "You still have boy hair. The unicorn spell didn't make it longer."

"It'll grow out," said Vanessa. "When it's long, maybe I'll braid it like Muffy does."

The duck girl described her future plans to them as they walked quickly to the Crosswire condominium. "And then I'll get a ballet dress, and ballet shoes, and take ballet lessons so I can dance as well as Odette does."

"You just turned into a girl," Arthur marveled, "and you're already interested in girl stuff."

"Well, I don't want to be a tomboy," said Vanessa. "I don't like tomboys. No offense, Francine."

The monkey girl gave him a blank look.

"I don't mind being a girl, if it means I get to walk again," Vanessa continued. "Sure, I have to sit down to pee, but that's nothing new."

They reached the corridor where Muffy's condo was located, and Francine rang the doorbell. They waited half a minute, and no one answered.

"Looks like nobody's home," said Arthur.

"Give them a minute," said Vanessa. "They don't have servants anymore."

Francine rang the bell again, but no one came. She pressed her ear against the surface of the door. "I don't hear anything," she stated. "Everyone must be away."

"Where could they have gone?" Arthur wondered.

"Let's try Fern," said Vanessa, carefully holding up her jeans. "She's about my size."

* * *

to be continued 


	12. Bright Lights, Big City

In the depths of space, the enormous alien Glieph was showing the Crosswires and Nordgrens to a high doorway filled with waves of light. "This passage will take you directly to the lobby of Scaly Arms," she informed them. "It's a fifteen-star hotel. I'm sure you'll enjoy your stay."

"Fifteen stars?" said Mr. Crosswire incredulously. "What exactly does that mean?"

"At Scaly Arms, each room comes with its own chef and masseuse," Glieph explained. "Don't worry about the expense—it's all paid for by the administration."

"Oh, I just can't wait," said Muffy dreamily.

"I've informed the hotel of your arrival," Glieph assured them. "An Earth-speaking staff member will meet you as soon as you touch down."

"Touch down?" said George nervously.

"It's just an expression," said the alien.

"Good," said the moose boy with a sigh of relief. "I'm afraid of airplanes."

"Let's go, Georgie," said Sal, tugging on her brother's sleeve. "I want to see the mile-high roller coaster."

Glieph saluted the Earthlings as they stepped through the gateway and vanished into the waves. "Have a good time in Elci Kahaf," she called after them. "I wish it were _me_ going there."

The familiar tingling in the antlers was the first thing George experienced. Then, for a split second, he was engulfed in yawning darkness. Just as he feared he would fall forever, what appeared to be a marble floor abruptly materialized under his feet.

Muffy was still next to him, holding his hand tenderly. They and their families were in the center of a palatial room that seemed to stretch onward for miles. Soaring buttresses held a curved roof in place, and a row of large picture windows offered vistas of unbelievable color and variety. They strained to recognize even one object.

Living beings of various forms and sizes walked and slithered past them, many pushing wheeled vehicles packed with metallic containers. Muffy was especially enticed by a pair of almost-identical teddy bear creatures, who waddled along surrounded by about eighteen similar but smaller bears.

George, while watching a silver-eyed alien strut along on spindly, mantis-like legs, suddenly felt moisture hit the back of his head. He whirled, and saw a snail-like creature with an ornate spiral shell, wiping green slime from its face with a cloth. "Zebuguh platchy," the giant snail apologized in a pleasantly feminine voice.

"This is like the Grand Central Station of the galaxy," Mrs. Nordgren remarked.

"It's like _Lost in Translation_ meets _Lost in Space_," Mrs. Crosswire added.

"Gulvax ni mev onga yehyeh," droned a male-sounding voice from the overhead speakers.

Just as Mr. Crosswire wandered off to look for an information desk, a slender humanoid with pointed ears, white skin, and hair like artichoke leaves walked up to them on tiny feet. "Welcome to the Scaly Arms of Elci Kahaf, my friends from Earth," it spoke in what seemed like three voices at once. "You are the Elwood and Starbucks families, are you not?"

Mr. Crosswire nodded slowly. "Yes. Yes, we are."

"My name is Ablikablukapelifrotz," the alien continued, its lipless mouth forming a smile, "but you may call me Jenny." Indeed, the greeter wore a badge on the lapel of her shirt with the name JENNY in Earth letters.

"Jenny?" said Muffy with surprise. "Are you a girl, then?"

"Yes," replied Ablikablukapelifrotz.

"Do you have a boyfriend?" asked Muffy, glancing affectionately at George.

"Yes, I do," said Jenny excitedly. "He is very handsome. He has two heads."

"When you have babies, where do they come out?" Muffy asked her.

"That's quite enough," said Mrs. Crosswire, laying a hand over her daughter's mouth.

"I will lead you to your rooms now," said Jenny, striding away on her rubbery legs.

She led the families into a chamber that resembled an elevator with glass walls, and more parts of the fantastic alien city became visible to them. "Your rooms are on the 1,313th floor," said the alien concierge. "I hope you're not superstitious."

The elevator shot upward at fantastic speed, nearly knocking over the Crosswires and Nordgrens like bowling pins. The concrete-covered ground became more and more distant, until they felt as if they were viewing it from space.

"I think I'm gonna be sick," moaned George, and Jenny promptly handed him a white paper bag.

Not even in their dreams had they seen such a sight as was unfolding below them. Vast, monolithic towers stretched in every direction, gleaming in the light of the setting blue sun. Rail vehicles rocketed between them, occasionally stopping to take on new passengers. "It's nothing but trains," Muffy realized. "Doesn't anyone drive a car here?"

"In Elci Kahaf?" said Jenny with a chuckle. "You can't be serious. There's nowhere to park."

"How can there be nowhere to park if there are no cars?" Muffy pressed her.

"Elci Kahaf was designed to be an environmentally friendly paradise," Jenny answered. "Therefore, no parking lots. It's the city of the future. The city of the future. The city of the future. The city of…"

"Okay, I got it," said Muffy impatiently.

"I'm sorry," said Jenny, putting her root-like fingers over her mouth. "We Galizorians have a custom of repeating ourselves when we say something important."

"I need to pee," said Sal urgently. "I need to pee. I need to pee. I need to…"

"Look over there!" exclaimed George, pointing to their left.

All heads turned. A short distance from the hotel towered a winding tube held aloft by massive steel supports. George, Sal, and Muffy held their breaths as a group of aliens strapped to a train-like vehicle hurtled through the twisting sky tunnel, then plunged down a steep slope that seemed to extend half a mile toward the ground.

"Good Lord," Mr. Nordgren commented. "They must be moving faster than the speed of sound."

"The Tube of Terror has a top speed of 762 Earth miles per hour," Jenny told him. "It's the tallest, fastest amusement park ride of any Alliance planet."

"Hold me, George," said Muffy queasily.

"I-I don't want to throw up all over you," said George, stepping back from her.

"I don't need to pee anymore," said Sal, blushing.

Once the dizzying glass elevator ride was over, Jenny led her guests to a moving walkway that transported them along an endless corridor to their rooms. "I see that you have no luggage," remarked Jenny as she slid a card through a laser reader.

"That's right, we don't," said Mr. Crosswire.

"Whatever we need, we'll buy here," his wife added. "We're very rich people on our home planet."

"Ah, yes," said Jenny, escorting the Nordgrens into their room. The Crosswires entered as well, curious to see the interior. "I've heard of Starbucks. You own all the coffee on Earth, no?"

"In addition to several third-world countries," joked Mr. Crosswire.

George's nausea quickly left him when he looked upon the hotel room. It featured two bedrooms, one with a double bed and one with two singles; the wall dividing them had a giant TV screen embedded in each side. Through the large window they could see the continuation of the tube coaster, as well as a panorama of mountains, river gorges, and other cities.

"I didn't think it was possible for a city to be so big," said Mrs. Nordgren in awe.

"Elci Kahaf has a population of 460 million," Jenny stated. "It's the largest city on the planet Orelob."

As Mrs. Crosswire examined the bizarre-looking culinary devices in the kitchen, another alien burst into the room. This one had blue skin, a pig-like nose, and four arms, which it waved about enthusiastically.

"Are you hungry?" asked the creature in a tone like that of a TV host.

"No, we just…" Mrs. Crosswire began to say.

"Scaly Arms features exotic cuisine from the farthest reaches of the Alliance," the blue man went on. "Dishes you've never heard of. Tastes you've never imagined. Flesh of creatures that would eat _you_ if they were still alive. We even serve _man!_ If you're dissatisfied with any of my creations, just let me know, and I'll kick it up a notch. Bam!"

The monkey woman smiled, glad to have someone to do her cooking again.

Sal and George had no sooner climbed onto the double bed and begun to hop up and down, when a disconcerting beeping noise was heard. "What's that sound?" asked Mrs. Nordgren.

"It's what Earthlings call the telephone," Jenny told her. "And I think it's for you."

The moose woman traced the noise to a control console. Seeing a prominent green button, she pressed it, and a booming voice spoke to her. "Amanda Nordgren."

She knew the voice—it belonged to Lieutenant T'l'p'g'r. "Er, yes?" she responded.

"I have some bad news," said the Thrag. Mrs. Nordgren noticed that the people around her seemed oblivious to her conversation. Looking up, she saw a plastic dome hanging over her antlers. _It's some sort of sound shield_, she thought.

"My son witnessed a murder, and we've been carried off into outer space," said the woman. "Can any news be worse than that?"

"It's about Heath Holcombe," came T'l'p'g'r's authoritative voice. "We've learned something very disturbing about him."

"Which is?"

"He was not the tabloid reporter you believed him to be," the Thrag continued. "One of our officers examined the contents of his wallet, and discovered that he was an agent of the Black Veil."

"Pardon my ignorance," said Mrs. Nordgren, "but what's the Black Veil?"

"It's an activist group," T'l'p'g'r replied. "It's well-funded, and has cells throughout the Alliance. Its stated goal is to put an end to Alliance interference in the affairs of fourth-galaxy planets."

"You've lost me again," said the moose woman.

"By fourth-galaxy planets, I mean those worlds that haven't yet developed space-warp technology. Yes, that includes Earth."

"Slow down," said George, who had suddenly joined his mother underneath the sound dome. If Holcombe was working for this organization, wouldn't that make him an alien?"

"No," answered the sphere-headed space cop. "He was a human, employed by the Black Veil to gather evidence of alien meddling on Earth."

"So _that's_ why he was always bugging us for alien stories," George mused.

"And why is this bad news?" asked Mrs. Nordgren.

"The Black Veil has many powerful sympathizers among the planetary councils," said T'l'p'g'r. "When they hear that Thrag officers murdered a Black Veil agent on a fourth-galaxy world, an explanation is the _least_ that they'll demand."

* * *

to be continued 


	13. Missing Persons

Fern's computer screen displayed a picture of her late friend, Greta von Horstein. On each side of the monitor she had lit a tall candle, and laid a few black roses. Her daily moment of silence had arrived. She bowed her head reverently, as Buster, at the other end of the room, looked over her collection of Brooke McEldowney cartoon books.

"Heh heh," chuckled the rabbit boy as he flipped a page in _Hallmarks of Felinity_. "This is inspiring me to draw cartoons about my puppy. She's got as much personality as this cat."

Ending her silence, Fern extinguished the candles and closed the picture of Greta. "I was under Tegan's influence when she was killed," she recalled. "I didn't experience the full impact of her death. Wherever she is, I hope she can see what I'm doing in her memory."

"Maybe unicorns don't die the same way as the rest of us," Buster suggested. "They're magical, after all."

"I was only beginning to get to know her," Fern reflected, "and then she was taken away from me."

The doorbell rang, and she hurried to answer it, imagining that Greta's parents might have dropped by to commiserate with her. Instead, it was Arthur, Francine, and Van, now known as Vanessa.

Fern welcomed them inside, and then her eyes nearly burst out of her face. "Oh, my gosh!" she exclaimed. "Van, you're walking! What happened?"

The duck girl only grinned sheepishly. "We learned something new about unicorn horns," Francine replied for her. "Never, ever try to get a fourth wish out of one."

Buster jumped up to greet them. "I don't believe what I'm seeing," he remarked. "Was it some kind of miracle cure, or magic spell?"

"This is gonna sound funny, Fern," said Vanessa to the poodle girl, "but I wonder if I could borrow some of your clothes."

"Sure," said Fern generously. "Who do you want them for?"

"Myself," answered Vanessa. "I've turned into a girl, and my old clothes don't fit anymore, plus they're boy's clothes."

Fern gaped for a moment, then started to laugh. After a few seconds of laughing, she gaped again.

"You're serious," she said incredulously. Vanessa, Francine, and Arthur nodded.

"I'll need some shoes, a dress, stockings, and underpants," said Vanessa. "I won't keep them for very long, just until I get some girl clothes of my own."

Fern swallowed and tried to will herself to speak.

"You're a girl," she acknowledged.

"A girl who can _walk_," said Vanessa proudly.

"How long will you be a girl?" Buster asked her.

"Probably for the rest of my life," the duck girl replied. "Or, until I find a magic spell that turns me back into a boy without making me crippled again. But that may take a long time, so I'll have to make some changes to my lifestyle."

"You don't _have_ to wear a dress," said Fern.

"Why shouldn't I?" was Vanessa's response. "Girls look pretty in dresses."

"All right," said Fern, starting toward her bedroom, "but you'll have to dress yourself."

Francine volunteered to help Vanessa change, and within minutes, the duck girl emerged from the bathroom with a blue dress dangling over her body. Her feet were clad in long white stockings, and protected by a pair of Fern's buckle shoes.

"How do I look?" she asked Arthur and Fern.

"Beautiful," replied Fern in astonishment.

"Will you marry me?" joked Arthur.

"That's a relief," said Vanessa, fiddling with her skirt. "I wouldn't want to spend the rest of my life as an ugly girl."

"Your hair makes you look like a boy, though," Fern added. "I've got a few wigs from the drama club. I think you should wear one."

"Wigs are fake," Vanessa protested. "I'll wait for my hair to grow."

"But I insist," said Fern, reaching into the lowest drawer of her dresser. "Here's a spiky blond wig that'll make you look like Ellen DeGeneres. Or if you'd rather be a brunette, here's a Jennifer Lopez wig. I wore it when I acted in _Cheaper by the Dozen_. Since you just turned into a girl, you may want to start with something simple, like this Shirley Temple wig…"

"Well, I suppose it won't hurt to see what I look like with long hair," said Vanessa, taking the brown wig that Fern was holding out.

The wavy tresses descended over her shoulders as she clamped the wig over her head. "Now the illusion is complete," Fern remarked.

Vanessa stepped in front of the bathroom mirror and admired her new appearance. "This is no illusion," she told Fern. "This is the new me."

Buster watched curiously as the pleased duck gave her wig a shake. "When I was a girl, it felt weird," he related. "Don't you feel weird at all?"

"I'm a girl, and I'm wearing a dress," said Vanessa flippantly. "What's there to feel weird about?"

Glancing out the window, Arthur noticed that a police car was speeding by. "Guys, we've got a problem," he informed the others.

Vanessa quickly learned that Fern's buckle shoes were unsuited for running. Nonetheless, she hurried with Arthur and Francine to Westboro Apartments, where a squad car had parked. Wasting no time, they rushed into the building and discovered that Augusta had company—Mr. and Mrs. Cooper, Odette, and policewomen Pinsky and Jones.

"That _is_ my son's wheelchair," claimed Mrs. Cooper. "I know it from the drawings on the leather arm rests. This witch woman has done something terrible to him, I'm sure of it."

"His wheelchair is here because he left under his own power," said Augusta, clutching baby Petula to her chest.

"You can't expect us to believe that nonsense," said Mrs. Cooper sternly.

"What's this?" her husband interjected. "Have you stopped believing in miracle healings?"

"Don't start, Mel," said the duck woman.

"Yeah, Mom," said Vanessa as she charged into the apartment. "Augusta made me walk, and I didn't have to break my beak for it."

Mrs. Cooper scowled at the little girl in the blue dress who so resembled Van. "Hey, she's wearing a dress," joked Odette. "She _must_ be him."

"Van _did_ turn into a girl," Francine insisted. "Arthur and I watched the whole thing happen." The aardvark boy nodded in agreement.

"Slow down, everyone," said Officer Pinsky, waving her hand. "No, don't slow down. _Stop_."

"Let's see if we've got the details straight," said her partner, Jones. "Mr. and Mrs. Cooper claim that their son Van was last seen here, and now there's nothing left but his wheelchair. Ms. Winslow claims that Van was not only cured of his paralysis, but magically changed into a girl as well."

"This is even weirder than the couple whose memories of their kids were wiped," Pinsky commented.

"Is that a wig?" asked Odette as she rudely plucked the hairpiece from Vanessa's scalp.

"Hey!" the duck girl complained. "I need that!"

"You even cut your hair to match Van's," Odette marveled. "Why did you go to so much trouble?"

"I told you, _I'm_ Van!" said Vanessa, reaching after the wig in her sister's hand.

"I like the can-opener orphan story better," said Odette as she tossed the wig into Petula's crib.

While Vanessa chased after her hairpiece and the officers consulted with Augusta and the Coopers, Arthur and Francine reflected on what they had seen. "This is scary," Arthur confided. "I'd never want to be a girl. Why is he taking it so well?"

Francine shrugged. "The unicorn spell must have jumbled his brain."

"Yeah," said Arthur, and then a possibility struck him. "Maybe that's how the unicorn horn's _supposed_ to work. It doesn't just change your body—it changes your _mind_, so you'll be happy as the thing you've turned into."

"You think so?" said Francine in amazement.

"When D.W. turned into a unicorn, she didn't want to go back to being human," Arthur remembered.

"And when I used the horn to turn into a teenager," added Francine, "I liked it so much, I wanted to stay that way."

"And look at Augusta," said Arthur, unaware that the rabbit woman was bending one of her ears to listen. "She was pregnant for, like, half a minute."

"It's like somebody threw a baby in her lap, and she loved it as her own," Francine remarked.

A corner of Augusta's mouth drooped.

"Hey, Van…er, Vanessa," said Arthur to the duck girl as she was replacing her wig, "do you _enjoy_ being a girl?"

"Not really," Vanessa replied.

Francine leaned over to Arthur's ear. "So much for _that_ theory," she whispered.

"But that's only because I haven't done any girl things yet," Vanessa continued. "I'm sure I'll have a great time shopping for clothes, and collecting dolls, dancing ballet, making cookies…"

Arthur shot Francine a smug look.

"Ms. Winslow," said Officer Jones, "we'd like you to come to the station with us so we can ask a few more questions."

Concern filled the rabbit woman's hazel eyes. "All right," she answered, "as long as I can take Petula with me."

"Of course," said the policewoman. "Now come along."

Augusta's mind raced as she followed the officers to their car. _I just know they're going to lock me up. Is it because of Van, or because they think I'm crazy? Even worse…what if Arthur's right? What if my love for Petula isn't natural?_

"I hope they can get the truth out of her," said Mrs. Cooper bitterly. "My poor little boy—what did that witch do to him?"

"Valerie, what have I told you about guilt by association?" her husband snapped.

"What about Vanessa?" said Odette. "She must know something about what happened to Van."

"Who, me?" said Vanessa innocently.

"You have a point, Odette," said Mr. Cooper. "If she has no other place to stay, we should let her come home with us."

Mrs. Cooper glared at her husband. "Come home with us? Why?"

"Because you disapprove of it," said Mr. Cooper flatly. "Also, I've got…a _feeling_ about her."

"Hooray!" cheered Vanessa as she threw her arms around Odette. "I'll be your little sister!"

"She is _not_ sharing my room," said the swan girl peevishly.

* * *

to be continued 


	14. Identity Crisis

"Let's go over your story one more time," said Officer Pinsky, who was driving the squad car. "You used to be a man, a witch's spell turned you into a woman, a wish on a unicorn's horn made you have a baby, and another wish made Van able to walk and turned him into a girl."

"Yes," said Augusta, nodding. "That sums it up pretty nicely."

Officer Jones glanced back at the rabbit woman through the metal grating that separated the two policewomen from the backseat passenger. "Well, let's hope there are no more witches or unicorns out there," she said patronizingly. "We wouldn't want _all_ the men to get transformed into women. There's enough competition for boyfriends as it is."

"You think it's tough here?" said Augusta. "Try the town I came from—Salem, Massachusetts."

"Salem, eh?" mused Officer Pinsky. "That explains the whole witch thing, then."

"I should keep you around," joked Officer Jones. "I wouldn't mind getting turned into a man every four weeks."

While Augusta wondered what her fate would be, Odette and her parents returned to their home with Vanessa in tow. Logan and Dallin were astonished to see that the Van-like girl had reappeared, this time wearing a blue dress and brown wig.

"What's _she_ doing here?" Logan protested.

"Vanessa is going to stay with us for a few days," replied Mr. Cooper. "We have reason to believe she knows what happened to Van."

"Mel, would you mind watching the kids?" said his wife, turning back toward the door. "I have one more thing to attend to."

"Certainly, Valerie."

With Mrs. Cooper gone and Mr. Cooper attending to baby Megan's needs, Odette, Logan, and Dallin were left to marvel at Vanessa's appearance and behavior.

"Look at her beak," Dallin observed. "It's broken in the exact same place Van's was."

"Dude, this is totally unreal," said Logan eloquently. "Does Van have, like, an identical twin sister?"

"It's really me, I swear," said Vanessa earnestly. "Ask me any question about Van, and I'll answer it correctly."

"Okay," Dallin agreed. "What girl does Van have a crush on?"

"Oh, that's easy," said Vanessa. "None—because _I'm_ a girl."

"What's Van's favorite movie?" asked Logan.

"_The Court Jester_ with Danny Kaye," said Vanessa effortlessly.

"I understand they're doing a remake of _Court Jester_ with Jim Carrey," said Odette.

"What?" said Vanessa, outraged. "How dare they!" Even the duck girl herself was amazed at the screech that had come from her mouth.

"She does a good imitation," said Logan. "But here's a totally hard question. What's Van's favorite piece of classical music?"

"Paganini's _Caprice in A Minor_ for solo violin," said Vanessa proudly.

"Who's Van's favorite soccer player?" asked Dallin excitedly.

"Diego Armando Maradona," was Vanessa's answer.

"What's Van's favorite song?" Odette asked her.

"'Tomorrow', from _Annie_," replied Vanessa. "I can sing it, too. The sun'll come out tomorrow, bet your bottom…"

"No! Stop!" pleaded Logan, clutching his ears.

"She's Van, all right," said Dallin with confidence. "Nobody else can sing that badly."

"I still don't believe it," said Odette, folding her arms. "And I still think it's a bad idea to let her stay here."

"Where's she gonna, like, sleep, and stuff?" Logan wondered.

"Quinn's room is empty," said Mr. Cooper, who had been listening to Vanessa's interrogation.

"Oh, man," the duck girl groaned. "Quinn's room is _so_ boring. I bet nobody else's older sister cuts the crossword puzzles out of the newspaper and tapes them to her wall."

Odette cast a stupefied glare at her. "You…you sounded just like him when you said that—the intonation, everything. How much time did you two spend together?"

"Astonishing," Mr. Cooper remarked soberly. "I don't believe in magic, but I can't doubt what my eyes and ears are telling me. For all we know, Van and Vanessa _could_ be the same person."

"Van's a dudette now?" said Logan in wonderment. "Cool. I get a room to myself."

"Here's the _real_ test," said Dallin, hurrying into the room with a violin case tucked under his arm. "Can you play the violin as beautifully as Van does?"

Smiling eagerly, Vanessa ripped open the case and laid the instrument over her right shoulder. Grasping the bow, she launched into a performance of the piece she had been rehearsing endlessly—Bartok's _Sonata for Solo Violin_. To her delight, her girlish new fingers proved more dexterous than her old ones, giving her more lightness and agility as she played.

"I don't need any more proof," said Odette, shaking her head.

"It's settled, then," said Mr. Cooper authoritatively. "For as long as Vanessa stays here, we treat her as if she really _is_ Van—or at the very least, as if she's a member of the family."

"Hooray!" Vanessa's skirt and wig bounced as she hopped for joy. "The first thing I want to do is go shopping for clothes with Odette!"

"Um…er…" the swan girl stammered anxiously.

"Come on," Vanessa urged her. "You're so desperate for a little sister to shop with, you've even gone out with Muffy." Grinning smugly, she started to play a jig on her violin.

"Can this day get _any_ weirder?" said Logan.

As he spoke, Mrs. Cooper snatched up a container of dried red herbs from the shelf of Augusta's vacated apartment, and hurled it against the opposite wall with all her strength. It shattered, dumping its contents in a heap on the carpet alongside several other spilled materials. The duck woman grabbed another bottle and threw it at the same target, destroying it. _This is what I think of your witchcraft!_ she thought indignantly.

She smashed all the containers, more or less four dozen in total. Fine powder from the various substances floated into the air and meshed together, becoming an odd-smelling mist that filled the apartment and enveloped Mrs. Cooper. She sniffed a few times, thought nothing of it, and slipped away from the building, hoping she hadn't been seen.

By the time she made it back to her house, she had grown a full beard.

"My God, Valerie!" exclaimed Mr. Cooper at the sight of his wife's hairy, powder-covered face. "What's happened to you?"

"Ding dong, the witch is dead," replied Mrs. Cooper in a weak, raspy voice.

Needless to say, it fell upon Mr. Cooper to drive his daughters to the mall.

* * *

Francine's parents had taken the garbage truck to attend a flower show, so she and Arthur ran breathlessly to the Read home. "We need a ride to the police station!" they exclaimed in unison as they entered.

Pal barked and rose on his hind legs.

"Pal can't drive," Francine pointed out.

"You're right," Arthur acknowledged. "Pal, where's Dad? Go get Dad."

"He can't understand English, either," said Francine impatiently.

"Calm down," said Pal sagely. "They haven't pressed any formal charges against Augusta, so the worst they can do is order her to undergo a psychological evaluation."

"Arf arf arf," was all that Francine and Arthur heard.

Attracted by the commotion, Mrs. Read poked her head through the doorway to the laundry room. "What's going on?" she asked as D.W. climbed up the stairs past her.

"We need you to drive us to the police station," Arthur told her.

" Augusta's been arrested," added Francine. "The police think she kidnapped Van, but we know she didn't."

The aardvark woman narrowed her eyes. "Kidnapped Van? Why on Earth…"

"If you won't drive us there, we'll take our bikes," said Arthur.

"Not now," Mrs. Read lectured him. "Let the police do their work. They'll call for you when they need you."

"Mooommm…" moaned Arthur.

His mother turned her back and walked off, but D.W. had a proposition. "Greta can drive you to the police station," she suggested.

Arthur glared sternly at his sister. "D.W., Greta can't drive anybody anywhere, because she's _dead_."

"No, she's not," D.W. insisted. "She's standing right next to me."

Arthur and Francine looked at both sides of the little girl, but saw no one.

"Her car's waiting outside for us," claimed D.W.

"We don't have time for this nonsense," said Arthur, gesturing for Francine to leave with him.

D.W. sighed as the pair departed. "Don't worry," Greta said to her. "Someday they'll be able to see me, too."

* * *

The peach-colored satin dress she wore was stylish and cute, and her new pastel-yellow shoes reflected the sun nicely, but Vanessa felt strangely unfulfilled.

"You look good enough to eat, Van…I mean, Vanessa," remarked Odette as she walked toward the Cooper family's Buick with the glum-looking duck girl and her father. "Is that what you're unhappy about? Are you afraid someone will eat you?"

Vanessa remained silent until Mr. Cooper had driven the girls away from the shopping mall. "I don't understand," she finally spoke up. "I didn't enjoy it as much as I should have."

Odette rolled her eyes; due to the length of her neck, this caused the ceiling of the car to entirely block out her view. "I kept telling you, 'Get the boy-cut denim jeans, you'll feel more comfortable in them.' But no, you had to ask for the darling little dress with the buttons."

"It's not that," said Vanessa seriously. "The dress is fine. I like it. It's just that…shopping for clothes and dolls is supposed to make girls happy, but it didn't make _me_ happy. In fact, I was kinda bored." She reached into the bag that sat between herself and Odette, and pulled out two Bratz dolls in their packages. "Even a little weirded out."

"It's your first shopping trip as a girl," said Odette with a hint of impatience. "It's not the same as boy shopping. You'll need some time to get used to it."

"But I'm a girl _now_," said Vanessa insistently. "I have a girl's heart and a girl's needs."

Confused, Odette could only sigh.

"Maybe I didn't turn _all_ the way into a girl," worried Vanessa as she gazed at her new dolls and felt nothing. "Maybe I should go to the doctor and get X-rayed."

"You will, soon enough," said Mr. Cooper from the driver's seat. "This may be hard for you to understand, Vanessa, but being turned into a girl doesn't automatically make you like girl things instead of boy things—at least, I don't think it does."

"It _doesn't?_" said Vanessa in surprise.

"It doesn't," replied her father.

The duck girl's face fell. "Then what does that make me? A tomboy—a girl who likes boy things. The other girls won't want to play with me."

"Of course they will," said Odette helpfully. "I've talked to some of your girl friends; they all think you're very nice."

"I'm getting really confused," Vanessa admitted.

"I've been confused ever since this whole thing started," said Odette, "and _you're_ the one who got sex-changed."

"What do I do?" asked Vanessa, pleading in her voice. "How do I learn to enjoy being a girl? I have to know, because I don't think this is just a dream I can wake up from."

Odette shrugged. "I don't know…but then again, I've never had to ask myself that question."

Vanessa tossed her dolls aside and began to sulk. "I don't think I want to be a girl," she muttered.

* * *

to be continued 


	15. Too Much Fame

Muffy, on the other hand, had no reservations about being a girl or shopping. "This conversation is boring," she complained. "Let's put these credit chips they gave us to good use."

"This is important," Mrs. Nordgren told her. "We're at the center of an interplanetary incident. We could be stuck in this witness protection thing for a long, long time."

"Not only that," said George, "but for all we know, aliens are conducting diabolical experiments on Earth people, and they killed Heath to keep it a secret."

"I _knew_ reality shows had a sinister purpose," his father quipped. Behind him, Sal was investigating the mystery of a black cord that emerged from the wall, went on for six feet, and just ended.

"Leave the conspiracy theories to the research scientists," said Muffy, leafing through a directory of alien clothing stores. "We could be here for years, or we could go home tomorrow—I want to make the best of our time."

George glanced at the page she was reading, which featured an array of four-sleeved coats and lines of alien text. "How can you understand that stuff?" he asked her.

"A picture's worth a thousand words," said Muffy without turning her head. "For example, I don't need to speak Tribble to know that this skirt would look really cute on me, once I patched up the tail hole."

"I think Muffy's right," said Mrs. Crosswire to the other adults. "We'll obviously never get home unless we play along, so we may as well explore this new world."

"Hungy," babbled little Tyson as he waddled around. "Hungy, hungy."

"Did someone say _hungry?_" said the blue-skinned chef, suddenly leaping up from behind the bar.

"Don't you ever leave?" Mr. Crosswire snapped at him.

"I can't," replied the alien. "I'm a hologram. As soon as you're ready to eat, I'll summon the _real_ chef."

"Summon Jenny, please," Mrs. Crosswire requested. "We want to do some touring, and we need a guide who knows the language and culture."

Within minutes, the artichoke-headed alien girl arrived and led them back to the glass elevator. An hour had passed, and the blue sun had sunk closer to the horizon.

"I can't be sure," said Mr. Nordgren, "but it looks like the sun is setting. You do have only that one sun, right?"

"Yes," replied Jenny, "but Orelob has twenty-four moons. We like to call it the Planet that Never Sleeps."

_Because all the inhabitants have insomnia_, thought the moose man.

"Most of the shops and restaurants never close," said Jenny as she led the two families into the hotel lobby. "Elci Kahaf has a sizeable population of nocturnal aliens." As she spoke, Muffy watched a boy with fangs and batlike wings stroll by.

"In other words," Mr. Crosswire observed, "the night life is out of this world."

As soon as they reached the bronze-like sidewalk in front of the hotel, the light of the partly-obscured sun cast a blue pallor on their skin. "Vomitrocious!" groused Muffy, vainly trying to rub the tint from her arm.

Mr. Nordgren looked at his hands. "I look like one-third of the Blue Man Group," he remarked.

"Your eyes will adjust to the new light spectrum," Jenny told them. "Now, what would you like to do? Shopping? Dinner? A concert?"

"Is it possible to do all three at once?" Muffy inquired.

"Possible," answered Jenny, "but not recommended."

They followed the alien girl to a crowded plaza, where a variety of familiar and not-so-familiar scents hovered in the air. "Smells like pizza," said George, sniffing. "No, now it smells like chocolate. Now…now I don't know _what_ it smells like."

Muffy, meanwhile, was taken aback by the sight of an attractive humanoid woman wearing a remarkable gown. The garment seemed to reflect objects like a warped mirror; at once point Muffy saw her own image in it, bent and twisted like putty.

"Omigosh," she marveled. "I'd heard of optical fabric, but I never thought I'd see it."

In an instant, she was running toward the strange woman. "Muffy, wait!" her mother called out.

The alien female appeared mildly surprised to see a small, wide-eyed girl in her path. "Migipulu troz?" she uttered.

"I _must_ know where you got that dress," said Muffy eagerly, but the woman only blinked her yellow, diamond-shaped eyes in confusion. "Uh…do you speak English? Parlez-vous francais? Cu vi parolas Esperanton?"

"Migipulu kibkib," grumbled the woman. Her mane of towy hair shook as she turned aside.

"Muffy, you just insulted her dress," said Jenny, running to the girl's aid. "_Cu vi parolas Esperanton_ is similar to the Mipata phrase _Kivi barolas esperando_, which means, 'I hope your clothing is intended as a joke.'"

"I'm sorry," said Muffy, blushing from embarrassment. The alien grunted and walked away.

"You just called her a slave trader," said Jenny. "From now on, let _me_ do the talking."

They heard a faint whine as a monorail train flew past over their heads. "A city without cars," Mr. Crosswire mused. "It's almost inconceivable. What would a man like me do for a living here?"

"There's a major shortage of actors and rock musicians," Jenny told him. "If you have skills in either of those areas…"

"Omigosh, look at that!" cried Muffy, pointing at an ornate structure resembling a small cathedral.

"That's the Inn of the Seventh Happiness," said Jenny. "It's a restaurant operated by the Yum-Yum Sisterhood."

"The what-what?" George replied stupidly.

"They're a monastic order," Jenny continued. "The aim of their religion is to create a dish so divinely delicious, that anyone who eats it will be raptured into heaven. They're still here, so they apparently haven't succeeded yet."

"I want to taste their _failures_," said Muffy, bolting forward. "Let's go!"

Robed nuns with shaven green heads welcomed the two families as they filed into the temple-restaurant. "Destudi, destudi," they could be heard to chant.

"_Destudi_ is a Yum-Yum blessing," Jenny explained. "It's not Mipata, but comes from a native language. Literally translated, it means, 'May God bless your stomachs and prepare them for what they are about to receive.'"

"What's this Mipata you mentioned?" asked Mrs. Crosswire as she lowered Tyson onto the bare wooden floor.

"It's the universal language of the Alliance," Jenny answered. "Nearly everybody speaks it, and it's very easy to learn."

Enchanting smells greeted their noses as a smiling nun led them to a table. As they sat down, Jenny picked up a menu filled with cryptic characters and said, "I highly recommend the saag paneer."

"Which is the Mipata word for…?" said Muffy.

While George nibbled on something that resembled a breadstick, a faint, droning voice from above his head uttered a startlingly familiar name: "Heath Holcombe."

Dropping his breadstick, he looked upward at the buttressed ceiling to locate the source of the voice. All he could see was some religious frescoes…and a suspended, large-screen TV. The split display resembled a CNN newscast, with a scaly, tentacle-nosed alien on the left and a floppy-eared cyclops on the right. "Zagu kibina Heath Holcombe orvorvo," spoke the scaly one as a line of alien characters scrolled along the bottom of the screen.

"Jenny!" the moose boy blurted out. "How do you switch the TV to English?"

Before the alien girl could respond, the TV audio blinked out momentarily, and was replaced by the voice of a translator: "As the official spokesman for the Black Veil, I deny any connection between my organization and the Earthling called Heath Holcombe."

The cyclops opened its mouth, the translator speaking in its place. "Your denial means nothing, as the Black Veil has a policy of denying all knowledge of the activities of its agents."

"The TV is operated by voice commands," Jenny told George, "but I see you've figured that out."

"Quiet," said George, waving a hand at her.

The exchange between the two alien talking heads continued, as the Crosswires and Nordgrens listened intently. "I have introduced a resolution in the Valiku Planetary Council to condemn the actions of the Thrag Star Police and demand an investigation into Alliance dealings with the planet Earth," said the one-eyed alien.

"Such an action would be wasteful and unnecessary," insisted the tentacle-nosed alien. "The actions of the Alliance in regard to Earth have been exemplary in their moderation, especially considering that Dark Augusta is widely believed to have come from that world."

"My resolution is moderate as well," insisted the cyclops. "Many of my comrades from other planetary councils favor cutting off all Alliance contact with Earth."

The news broadcast abruptly cut to a commercial. "Did you hear that?" George whispered to Muffy. "Heath's murder is in the interplanetary news."

"I always wanted to be a celebrity," said Muffy warily, "but this is a little _too_ much fame."

* * *

to be continued 


	16. Ultimatum

After an evening in the big city, the Crosswires and Nordgrens followed Jenny back to their rooms at the Scaly Arms. "I've never enjoyed myself so much," gushed Muffy as she set down a bag filled with new shoes and dresses. "It's like going to heaven, only to find it's been bought out by Macy's."

"I've got enough spaceship models to last me until the next scientific revolution," said George, holding up a small tube. "And look at this! Pine-scented rubber cement! Is this planet cool, or what?"

"Before you retire for the night," said Jenny to the adults in the group, "there's a small matter of what you Earthlings call a tip."

Mr. Crosswire and Mr. Nordgren exchanged uneasy looks.

Finally the moose man said, "I have a tip for you, Jenny." Leaning forward, he whispered into her pointed ear, "Ed Crosswire is a lousy tipper."

George caught Muffy in her room later, trying on an optical fabric dress that showed a real-time image of her head on the front. He barely contained a chuckle as he watched not only Muffy speaking, but the display on her dress as well.

"What do you think?" asked the vapidly grinning monkey girl.

"It's you," replied George.

Taking the moose boy by the hand, Muffy led him to the picture window, where they saw a dozen glowing moons in the dimly lit sky. "Nothing could be more romantic than this," she said wistfully.

"One…two…three…twelve," said George, counting the moons. "And twelve more on the other hemisphere, making a total of twenty-four."

"I love how you can do math in your head," said Muffy, leaning over to kiss the boy. The image on her optical dress showed her face with pursed lips.

* * *

The length of a day on Orelob being roughly equal to the length of a day on Earth, it happened to be bedtime on both planets. "Good night, D.W.," said Mrs. Read, covering her daughter with two blankets to protect her from the cold November night.

"Good night, Mom," said D.W.

As soon as her mother had turned off the lights and closed the door, a figure appeared in the darkness next to her bed. "Hey, D.W.," it whispered playfully. "Can I sleep with you tonight? I don't have anywhere else."

"Sure, Greta," said the aardvark girl eagerly.

Vanessa, meanwhile, was sitting upright in Quinn's bed, staring at the two Bratz dolls on the nightstand and wondering what to do with them. Before long her sister, Odette, stepped into the room. "Time for bed," said the swan girl sweetly.

"Okay," said Vanessa disinterestedly.

"How do you like your new nightgown?" asked Odette as she pulled the blanket over Vanessa's torso.

"It's a lot different from my old pajamas," answered the duck girl. "It's so soft, it almost feels like I'm not wearing it." Her tone became serious. "Why are you tucking me in, instead of Mom or Dad?"

Odette gazed at her lovingly. "Well, Dad's a little nervous, with you being a girl and all…but as for Mom, she still doesn't want you here with us."

Her mother's rejection wounded Vanessa's already troubled heart, and she started to cry.

"There, there," said Odette gently. "Big girls don't cry."

"Yes, they do," sobbed Vanessa. "I've seen you."

"That was different," said the swan girl, wiping the tears from her sister's cheeks. "A boy I liked didn't like me back. It's okay to cry about something like that."

"I'm afraid, Odette," said Vanessa plaintively. "I thought being a girl would be easy, but it's hard. What if I mess it up? What if I don't like it?"

Odette stood up from the bed, and the smile on her beak faded. "I'll tell you how to not mess it up," she said in a bitter tone. "Do the opposite of everything you see _me_ do."

She hastily walked away and shut off the light, leaving Vanessa to her tears.

"How's she holding up?" asked Mr. Cooper from the den.

"Not so well," Odette replied. Glancing at Mrs. Cooper in the laundry room, she added, "She could really use a mother right now."

The duck woman put down the pair of socks she was folding. "I can't believe you swallowed her story," she chided Odette. "The real Van is out there somewhere, probably kidnapped—and you know what _that's_ like."

"All right, maybe he is," said Odette boldly. "But right now there's a scared little girl in Quinn's room, and she's looking to either you or me for guidance, and I'm a sucky role model."

Mrs. Cooper, her razor-burned face radiating displeasure, walked out of the laundry room to confront her husband and daughter. She looked at one, then the other, then repeated the sequence, as if she were trying to look at both of them at once.

"I propose a bargain," she spoke up. "I'm willing to treat Vanessa as my own child, and even love her, for as long as she's with us—on one condition."

"What condition is that?" asked her husband.

Mrs. Cooper arched her eyebrows. "We put up our house for sale."

"What?" cried Odette. "You mean…move away?"

"That's what I mean," said Mrs. Cooper determinedly. "We've seen nothing but trouble since we came to this neighborhood—witchcraft, kidnappings, mysterious disappearances, and even the sun exploding. And if Vanessa is really Van, that just gives us another good reason to get away from here and find someplace quiet to live."

Mr. Cooper put down his copy of the _New Yorker_ and stood. "We're not moving," he stated firmly.

"We _don't_ want to go down this road again, Mel," his wife warned. "Because if we do, you don't know how far I'll go."

Mr. Cooper didn't move a muscle, so engrossed was he in weighing the pros and cons of defying Valerie.

A few minutes later, the darkness engulfing Vanessa was broken by the arrival of his mother. "Hi, Mom," said the girl weakly.

"Hi, Vanessa," said Mrs. Cooper, planting a tender kiss on her forehead.

"You changed your mind," said Vanessa gratefully.

"I did." Mrs. Cooper took a handkerchief and dried her daughter's cheeks. "I want to welcome you into the family. Whether you're Van or not, you're one of us now."

Vanessa sniffled happily. "Thanks, Mom. With your help, I know I'll make it as a girl."

* * *

to be continued 


	17. Conspiracy Theory

The blue Orelob sun rose on schedule, at first making little difference in the brightness of the sky. The Nordgrens and Crosswires found that Jenny had provided placards with English language instructions on how to use the alien showers—in particular, how to ensure a flow of water as opposed to nitric acid.

Excited to greet another day in the bustling megametropolis of Elci Kahaf, Muffy dressed up in the gray cashmere gown she had purchased, and made an attempt at operating her new anti-gravity pumps. Five minutes and three knocks on the head later, she changed back into her old buckle shoes.

"Hey, beautiful," said George, sauntering into the hotel room in his Earth clothes.

"Hey, georgeous," was Muffy's wistful reply.

They kissed for a few seconds, and then George asked, "What do you want to do today?"

"Everything," said Muffy, whirling around in her new dress. "I want to dance among the stars, swim in an ocean of chocolate, explore uncharted lands, climb a mountain of ice cream, touch the face of God…and then I'll eat breakfast."

"I hear Elci Kahaf has a huge children's museum," said George, "where you can ride around on a robot dinosaur, and see all kinds of old spaceships."

"I wanna ride on a dinosaur!" bellowed Sal, who had charged into the room behind George. The little moose girl, naked except for her stockings and underpants, was in the process of pulling on her slip.

"Come back when you're decent, Sal," George chided her.

"Do they have giant snakes at the museum?" his sister inquired eagerly. "I've always wanted to get swallowed by a giant snake."

"The only way to find out is to go there," said George.

Muffy tugged on the boy's shirt. "You know, you're gonna have to buy some alien clothes sooner or later," she told him. "You can't wear the same drab duds every day."

"Oh, I don't know," said George thoughtfully. "I'm still holding out hope that this'll all be over soon."

"Nothing's over," said Muffy earnestly. "It's only beginning, George. You've watched the news stations—the Heath Holcombe murder is all they're talking about, 24-7. Good gosh, don't these people have any celebrities to fawn over?"

George stood patiently and silently while his girlfriend ranted. Sal, in the meantime, discovered the joys of playing with a clapper lamp.

"We may as well set down roots here," continued Muffy as the lights flashed off and on. "How long do you think it'll take them to select a jury? Everyone's heard of Heath. Everyone's seen his face on TV. They'll have to deny recognizing him in order to get in."

_Deny recognizing him…_

"And another thing…" began Muffy, only to stop when she noticed George's startled expression.

"I just thought of something," said the moose boy slowly. "Remember when Heath looked at your pictures of the Belnaps, and said he didn't recognize them?"

"Oh, geez," Muffy grumbled. "Who do you think you are, Encyclopedia Brown? Leave the mystery-solving to the Thrags."

"No, I think I'm on to something," insisted George. "What if Heath really _did_ know the Belnaps, but didn't want us to know that he…_stop that, Sal!_"

"Sorry," said the little girl as she ceased clapping.

"That's silly," said Muffy. "The Belnaps are from another planet. Heath couldn't possibly know them."

"Why not?" said George in a fervent tone. "He works for the Black Veil. His _bosses_ are aliens."

"Okay, maybe you're right," said Muffy. "Maybe Heath went to the planet Yordil on business, had a date with Zoe Belnap that ended badly, and has denied knowing her ever since."

"Except why would a man visit Yordil willingly?" wondered George. "The Yordilians are man-stealers. He wouldn't be safe. Unless…he had some kind of diplomatic immunity."

"Diplomatic immunity?" said Muffy, intrigued. "You mean the thing that keeps diplomats from getting sick when they go to other countries?"

"No," answered George. "I mean he had special permission from the government to be there. You remember what the Thrags told us—the Yordilians are very careful about which men they invite."

Muffy opened her mouth to reply, then did something extremely uncharacteristic. She thought about what she was going to say.

"I just had a crazy idea, George," she said in a hushed voice. "Maybe Heath wasn't a Black Veil agent at all. _Maybe he worked for the Yordilians._"

George's jaw slowly fell.

Muffy slapped her forehead. "Oh, great," she groaned. "Now _I'm_ turning into a Sherlock."

* * *

On Earth, the bleary-eyed Augusta drove up to a particular street address, carried Petula out of her car, and shuffled to the front door. Inside, Mrs. Powers answered the ringing doorbell. 

"Good morning, Miss Winslow," said the bear woman. "And good morning, Petula. What a cutie!"

"Good morning, Mrs. Powers," said Augusta somberly.

"You don't look well," said the woman of the house. "Come in and sit down, please."

Augusta did so. As soon as her back hit the easy chair, she began to relate her woes.

"I had a talk with the police yesterday. They think I have something to do with the disappearance of Van Cooper—and in a sense, I do."

"What do you mean?" asked Mrs. Powers. Her son Alan emerged from his room, yawning and stretching.

"I mean nothing," said Augusta cryptically. "Everything means nothing. It's all meaningless. I'm sorry if I don't make any sense—I didn't sleep last night."

"What's this about Van disappearing?" asked Alan.

"Let me finish," said Augusta in a grumpy tone. "I'm scheduled for a psychiatric evaluation today. They may lock me away in the looney bin, or they may not. I'm only sure of one thing—that they'll declare me an unfit mother, and take my baby away."

Tears cascaded down the rabbit woman's cheeks. "I want to help," Mrs. Powers offered. "What can I do?"

Augusta sobbed quietly for a few seconds, then stood up. "Hold her," she requested, carefully placing the swaddled Petula in her friend's waiting arms.

"She's so precious," gushed Mrs. Powers, fondling the baby's chin. "Look at those little ears."

"I understand you've just been robbed of a daughter," said Augusta, wiping her face with a rag. "I'm terribly sorry. I came here because we can help each other."

Mrs. Powers, consumed by affection for the giggling Petula, barely raised her head to acknowledge the rabbit woman's statement.

"I can't stay here," Augusta went on. "Not only do the police suspect me, but yesterday, someone came into my apartment and destroyed all my potion ingredients."

"Oh, my gosh," Alan blurted out.

"Cutest baby ever," said Mrs. Powers in a whiny voice as she tickled the infant in her arms. "Yes, you are, yes, you are…"

"I'm going back to Salem," Augusta told them. "My family's there."

To Alan's growing alarm, she turned and slowly made for the door. "Mom?" he tried to alert his mother, but in vain—the bear woman paid attention to nothing but Petula.

"Thank you for everything," said Augusta sadly. With a turn of the doorknob, she slipped away into the bleak November dawn.

"Mom!" cried Alan, shaking his mother's hip.

"Gootchie gootchie…huh?" Her son's urgent voice yanked her back to reality.

"Mom, don't you see what just happened?" said Alan.

Augusta's old Ford Fiesta raced away from the curb. She couldn't stop crying, but she felt proud of herself at the same time.

_I was right_, she thought. _It wasn't the unicorn horn that forced me to have maternal feelings for Petula—it was her witch powers!_

"She looks hungry," said Mrs. Powers. "Alan, would you mind getting dressed and running to the Speedy Mart to buy some infant formula?"

"Mom," said her son calmly but indignantly, "Augusta is _not_ coming back."

"You're still here," said his mother, tapping her foot impatiently. "I'm waiting for that formula."

* * *

His head still ringing with Petula's cries of hunger and his mother's baby talk, Alan stared at his feet as he walked to school. _I thought I was supposed to get a nine-month warning before a baby sister came along,_ he mused. 

The first friend he met at Lakewood Elementary was Francine. "Hi, Alan," said the girl. "Got a minute? It's important."

"Sure," said the bear boy emotionlessly.

Francine led him to a row of lockers, then began to whisper. "You may notice something a little different about Van today," she advised him. "Actually, two things."

"What things?" asked Alan.

"You'll see," said Francine, restraining a giggle. "Do me a big favor, and pretend you don't recognize her, okay?"

"Okay," Alan agreed. "I'll pretend not to recognize…_her?_"

"A new student is joining us today," announced Mrs. Krantz to her fifth-grade charges. "Class, let's give a big fat Lakewood welcome to Vanessa Hooper."

Into the room walked a smiling duck girl in a peach-colored dress. Her long brown hair was tied back with a bow, and her ivory shoes tapped as they made contact with the floor.

The kids were dumbfounded, but they had promised not to comment on their friend's transformation. They did their best to remain nonchalant. Binky pretended to write in his notebook, Sue Ellen whistled, and Zeke snored as if asleep.

"I'm happy to be in your class," said Vanessa to the group. "I hope to make friends of all of you during the time I'm here, which may not be long."

* * *

"I have a friend named Buster," George recounted. "A while ago, he was taken away to the planet Yordil by a girl named Amy Belnap. She wanted to marry him, because there are hardly any boys on her planet. Some of my friends went to Yordil and rescued him." 

"I'm aware of the Buster Baxter case," boomed the voice of Lieutenant T'l'p'g'r from the sound dome above George's head. "I also had a hand in his rescue."

"Good," said George, relieved. "Then you know what I'm talking about. You see, Muffy and I have this funny idea—it may not be important, but we thought we should tell you, in case it turns out to be true."

"I'm all ears," said T'l'p'g'r.

Muffy took her turn to speak. "We heard on the news that some of the planetary leaders want to cut off all contact with Earth because of the Heath Holcombe incident. If the Alliance does that, there'll be nothing to stop the Yordilians from invading Earth and taking all the men for their own."

"An unlikely scenario," said the Thrag lieutenant. "Yordil lacks the strength to carry out an assault on Earth."

"Lacks the strength?" Muffy shot back. "Why? Because they're all _girls?_"

"I was referring to military might," T'l'p'g'r excused himself.

"What if they had allies?" asked George.

"Again unlikely," the Thrag responded. "Yordil has made all of its neighbors suspicious through its covert program of illegal immigration. Please continue."

"Okay," said George. "We have a friend on Earth who switched bodies with Amy Belnap. Heath talked to her for a long time, but later, when Muffy showed him a picture of the Belnaps, he said he didn't recognize them. I think it's because he _did_ know them, but didn't want to admit it. I think he might have been a Yordilian agent."

"An intriguing theory," said T'l'p'g'r. "But why, then, would a Thrag faction want him dead?"

"I don't know," answered George. "Maybe they were in on the conspiracy."

"It could've been a double cross," Muffy theorized. "You know, you send a man to do your dirty work, then when his back is turned, you shoot him to keep your plans a secret."

"I assure you," said T'l'p'g'r sternly, "if any of the Thrags under my command are secretly plotting with Yordil, I shall deal with them mercilessly. I'm afraid I must end the transmission now—the longer it goes on, the more chance that a hostile party will trace it to your location."

"Thanks, Tillpigger," said Muffy, waving goodbye to the sound dome.

Lieutenant T'l'p'g'r pressed a button on his console, and the voices of George and Muffy faded out. The sphere-headed alien left the control panel and began to walk down a corridor with long strides, apparently in a hurry.

A diagonally-grated door slid open, allowing the Thrag passage. Inside the large, rather luxurious prison cell, three people wearing drab uniforms stood to welcome T'l'p'g'r into their presence.

"What news?" asked Hank Armstrong.

The Thrag stopped and folded its long arms. "Your friends, the well-dressed girl and the boy with the antlers, are drawing a bit too close to the truth."

April Murphy suddenly became emotional. "Leave Muffy and George alone!" she pleaded. "You've already killed one man! Isn't that enough?"

"Relax, dear," said Daisy Armstrong, rubbing the girl's shoulders.

"They're still subject to Provision Theta," T'l'p'g'r continued. "They can do little harm—but I shall monitor them closely, nonetheless."

"Keep your hands off them, fishbowl-head!" bellowed April.

"Quiet!" Mr. Armstrong shouted at her. "You are a Yordilian. You _will_ cooperate."

"I _hate_ being a Yordilian," said April, her voice quivering.

"You must learn loyalty to your home world," said Mr. Armstrong gruffly, and then his tone became gentler. "Our plan will benefit both Yordil and the Alliance, April. We all know that Earth is home to mysterious and deadly forces—Dark Augusta proved that much to us. For the good of all, Earth must be overthrown. The Alliance can't interfere directly, though—that's why they asked the Yordilians to do the fighting."

"In no time at all, the Alliance will establish a policy of non-interference in Earth affairs," said T'l'p'g'r assuredly. "Once they take that step, Yordil will be free to strike."

"It'll be a happy day for you," Mrs. Armstrong told April. "You'll see Sue Ellen and all your friends again, and you'll be free to travel back and forth between Earth and Yordil."

"I wish I'd stayed on Earth," grumbled the cat girl.

* * *

to be continued 


	18. Baby Battle

Alan walked swiftly into the house, clutching the straps of a plastic bag in which lay a bottle of Enfamil. "Here's the baby formula you asked for," he informed his mother, who was unfolding an old crib with faded wooden slats. "Can I call the police now?"

Mrs. Powers, grinning obliviously, snatched Petula from the couch and gently laid her on the mattress in the crib, cooing sweetly. A few seconds passed before she acknowledged her son's presence. Taking the bag from his hand, she asked, "Why do you need to call the police? Is there a crime in progress?"

"I'm not a lawyer or anything," said Alan, struggling to remain calm, "but I think there's a law against abandoning a baby."

"Abandoning?" Mrs. Powers chuckled as she pulled the tab from the bottle of formula. "Don't be ridiculous, dear. Augusta's having a little trouble with the police, but I'll be glad to take care of Petula until she comes back."

Alan wanted to scream. "How many times do I have to tell you?" he said with extreme impatience. "Augusta. Is. Not. Coming. Back."

"If she doesn't," said Mrs. Powers, "then you've got yourself a new baby sister."

"I already _have_ a sister," grumbled Alan, but his mother was by this time absorbed in the task of feeding Petula through a plastic bottle.

_There's only one way to get through to her_, he thought bitterly. In one quick motion, he grabbed the phone from the wall and dialed Buster's number.

"Hello?" came the voice of Bitzi Baxter-Mills.

"This is Alan Powers," said the boy.

"Buster's not here right now," replied Bitzi. "He's at Fern's."

"I don't want him," said Alan earnestly. "I want you. Something big is transpiring at my house, and I think it's worth at least an article in the Elwood Times."

Mere minutes later, Bitzi marched through the front door, a bulky camera case slung over one shoulder, and a tripod folded under her other arm. "I would've been here sooner, but I had to program my TiVo to record _The Altos_," she told Alan. "What's the scoop?"

"Behold," said the bear boy, waving his hand toward the crib, "the baby of the future."

At first mildly incredulous, Bitzi dutifully unfolded her tripod and began to remove the camera from its case. "It looks like an ordinary baby to me," she remarked, glancing briefly at Petula's sleepy-eyed face. "What makes it so futuristic?"

"Hold her, and you'll see," said Alan, innocently sticking his hands behind his back.

"Oh, I get it," said Mrs. Baxter, reaching for the child. "They finally invented a baby that doesn't need to be burped." She carefully raised Petula to her bosom. "I'd like to buy one. Heck, I'd like to put up some investment...capital..."

As she gazed upon the baby girl's hairless visage, a warm feeling flooded her heart--a feeling she had last experienced ten years earlier, when a nurse had placed the hungry baby Buster in her eager, trembling hands. _My baby_, she thought despite herself. _My precious baby..._

"Would you like to take her home with you?" asked Alan.

"Yes," mumbled Bitzi, powerless to resist the boy's suggestion. "Yes, I would."

Mrs. Powers emerged from her bedroom, some slightly worn, pink baby pajamas draped over her arm. "Isn't she beautiful, Bitzi?" she said, barely noticing the camera that had been set up next to the crib.

"Oh, yes," answered the immobilized rabbit woman. "Whose...whose child is she?"

"She's _mine_," said Mrs. Powers, much to the astonishment of her son.

"That's impossible." Bitzi's grip on Petula tightened. "She's a rabbit." On an inexplicable impulse she added, "She belongs with her own kind."

Mrs. Powers glared suspiciously while stretching out her arms. "Please give her back, Bitzi," she quietly demanded. "And then take your camera and leave. There's no news for you here."

Mrs. Baxter realized that something was compelling her to act illogically, but the only thought she could manage was, _I want to hold her just a little longer...maybe for the rest of my life..._

"She's not your child," she stated, her voice breaking. "I have as much right to her as you do. Unless you can show me an adoption certificate, she's going home with me."

"Do you want this to get ugly?" said Mrs. Powers in a menacing tone.

Alan let out a sigh of satisfaction. _I love it when a plan comes together._

Jane Read poked her head through the still-open front door. "Here I am, Alan" she said helpfully. "You said your parents need some tax assistance...why, look at that _beautiful_ baby!"

----

to be continued


	19. Add Inches to Your Neck!

King Solobrain sat rigidly in his throne, a diamond-encrusted crown on his head, a golden scepter held up in one hand. In the vast hall before him, a courtier carrying a baby in swaddling clothes marched forward, followed by two women in silken robes and veils. "Your Majesty," announced the courtier, bowing on one knee, "I present to you Bitzisheba from the land of Elwoodorah, and your mother."

"What is the nature of the dispute?" asked King Solobrain in a solemn voice.

"They both lay claim to the infant Petulakiah," stated the courtier, holding the rabbit baby aloft.

"Sit up straight," said Solobrain's mother.

"Silence, woman," snapped the King. "You will state your case in turn."

"Don't call me _woman_. I'm your _mother_."

Bitzisheba began to speak. "Your Majesty, it is against the laws handed down by our fathers for a child to be raised by a family of another species."

"It is also written in the laws handed down by our fathers," said the King's mother, "that a woman, happening upon an abandoned child, should have first claim upon it."

"A woman of the same _species_," retorted Bitzisheba.

"Look who's stuck in the 10th century B.C.," snapped the King's mother.

"Silence!" shouted Solobrain, raising his scepter. "Let the child be divided in two."

"What?" said Bitzi, blinking with disbelief. "You mean…joint custody? I already have to go through that with Buster."

"Who asked for your opinion, anyway?" said Mrs. Powers.

Alan lowered his face sheepishly. "Never mind."

"Please," said Mrs. Read desperately, "can't I hold her again for just a few seconds?"

Bitzi defensively swiveled baby Petula away from the aardvark woman's grasping hands. "You already have three kids and a bun in the oven," she said harshly.

"Augusta left her with _me_," said Mrs. Powers firmly. "That constitutes an unspoken contract."

"There's no such thing as an unspoken contract," said Mrs. Baxter, her eyes nearly popping through her horn-rimmed glasses.

"I'll take this to court if I have to," Mrs. Powers threatened.

Bitzi smirked confidently. "You go ahead and do that, Mrs. 'I have no memory of raising my own son.'"

While the bear woman gaped in outrage, Bitzi turned on her high heel and strode through the door, still clutching Petula in her arms. "Where are you going with my baby?" yelled Mrs. Powers, hurrying after her.

"She's _my_ baby now," said Bitzi, not bothering to glance over her shoulder at the pursuing woman. "That is, unless you want to fight me for her."

Mrs. Read, her eyes becoming moist with tears, started to follow the bickering pair—until she noticed the distraught expression on Alan's face, and the hand he had slapped onto his forehead. "What's the matter?" she inquired.

"This is all my fault," the boy groaned. "I just wanted to avoid getting a baby sister, and now I've started World War III."

"What did you do?" asked the puzzled aardvark woman.

"There's some kind of magic charm about that baby," Alan related. "Every woman who touches her wants to keep her."

"That's completely silly," said Mrs. Read. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got a baby to catch." Quicker than a flash, she disappeared through the front doorway.

* * *

Day gave way to evening. After hours of arguing, Mrs. Baxter and Mrs. Powers agreed to take their case to the police. An APB was issued for the fleeing Augusta Winslow, and Petula spend the night under the loving care of the Elwood City Child Welfare Agency.

The two angry women slept little. _That baby was meant for me—I can feel it_, thought Bitzi as she tossed and turned. _She wouldn't be so heartless if she had a comatose daughter as well_, thought Mrs. Powers as she cut off a slice of haggis for a midnight snack.

Van Cooper awoke early in the morning, slowly pulled off the quilt that covered him, sat up groggily, and immediately noticed some odd facts. He was in Quinn's bed, he was wearing a pink nightgown, and his anatomy was no longer as he remembered it.

He felt a gasp of horror coming on. Then he caught himself. _That's right_, he thought, suppressing his panic. _I turned into a girl two days ago._

Vanessa hopped out of the bed, landing on her bare, somewhat smaller feet. _Yesterday wasn't so bad_, she thought. _The weirdest part was seeing all the girls in my class naked in the locker room, but I'll bet it was twice as weird for them_. She reached for the brunette wig Fern had loaned her, which lay on the end table next to her two Bratz dolls. _Today the fun begins—I'll sign up for aquatics, ballet lessons, and girl's chorus, I'll learn how to kick a soccer ball, and I'll…_

She stepped in front of the mirror to try on her wig, and let out a girlish scream.

"My hair!" she cried out loud.

Her shock quickly turned to amusement. She was staring at a duck's head covered with long golden curls, some of which dangled over her cheeks. At first she suspected that Odette might have glued a Shirley Temple wig to her scalp during the night, but a firm tug on one of her tresses proved that the hair was absolutely real.

_I can't believe how cute I look_, she thought with delight. _But I couldn't have grown this much hair overnight. And it wasn't curly before! What happened to me?_

In Logan's bedroom, where the violinist posters and pieces of sheet music had been carefully taken down from the walls, the teenage boy dozed and dreamed of a perfect world where all his siblings were girls, and he had his own bedroom in perpetuity. His happy slumber was interrupted by Vanessa's hasty entrance. "Dude!" the duck girl awakened him. "Look at me! I've got new hair!"

"Hrrrgh?" Logan rubbed his eyes and squinted, and the blur in front of him coalesced into a stringy-haired girl.

"I've got new hair!" boasted Vanessa, swinging her head back and forth. "Look what it can do!"

"Dudette," mumbled Logan, slowly pushing himself up, "that is _so_ totally freaky."

In little more than an instant the entire Cooper clan had gathered in the kitchen to admire Vanessa's new appearance. "It looks just like _my_ hair," Odette remarked. "You'll lose that smile when you find out what you have to do to manage it."

"It's so awesome!" Vanessa exulted. "Now I don't have to wear a wig to look like a regular girl."

"You look like an overgrown fern," Mrs. Cooper commented. "Odette, could you lend Vanessa some of you hair bands?"

"Yes, Mother," replied the swan girl eagerly.

Mr. Cooper picked up a strand of Vanessa's hair and scrutinized it thoughtfully. "It grew so quickly," he mused, "and it's not even your natural color."

"Yeah, it's crazy," the duck girl concurred. "I guess the magic spell that made me a girl had a delayed reaction, or something."

"I hope it's _finished_ growing," said Mr. Cooper, "or you'll have to drag it behind you to school."

"Then you can run around naked, and cover yourself with just your hair," joked Dallin.

Odette led Vanessa into the girls' bathroom, where Vanessa stripped bare and Odette removed everything but her undergarments. The swan girl turned on the shower and began to demonstrate the usage of her various hair care products. "Your hair's long now," she explained while rubbing conditioner into Vanessa's convoluted tresses, "so you have to remember to wash _all_ of it, and not just the top of your head."

Vanessa watched the soap crowd around her feet and sink into the drain, then looked up at Odette's body. "Is that gonna happen to me when I get to be your age?" she inquired innocently.

"Yes," replied her older sister. "This is what happens to all girls."

As the flow of water rinsed the suds from Vanessa's hair, Odette noticed to her alarm that her sister's neck was slowly but steadily growing longer.

Vanessa stopped running her hands through her locks when she noticed Odette's wide eyes. "What is it?" she asked, just before realizing that she had to stretch her arms further to reach the top of her head.

"You're…you're…" Odette stammered.

"What's happening?" said Vanessa, her concern increasing. "Am I getting taller?"

She could tell that another change was taking place, as her scalp had risen so high that she could no longer reach it. Acting out of blind instinct, she willed the muscles in her neck to contract and bend in a thoroughly unfamiliar manner. Her head was now reachable, but she no longer cared.

"My neck's acting funny," she stated.

Odette couldn't move, speak, or think. Her beak hung open grotesquely.

From her perspective, the wet, soapy duck girl standing in the bathtub had metamorphosed into a wet, soapy swan girl—a ten-year-old swan girl, indistinguishable from Odette herself except by age.

"What's going on?" asked Vanessa, her long, curved swan neck quivering. "Why can't I hold my head still?"

Odette finally succeeded in closing her mouth. Consternation filled her heart and soul.

"Crap," was all she could utter.

* * *

to be continued 


	20. First Period

Coopers found Vanessa naked in front of the bathroom mirror, curiously waving her head and neck back and forth. "My whole face has changed," the duck-turned-swan marveled. "My beak has a sharp point, my eyes are green instead of brown…why is this happening to me?"

"Consider yourself lucky," joked her mother. "Some people spend thousands of dollars for plastic surgery to look like a swan."

"What if I keep changing and changing?" said Vanessa, frightened tears forming in her eyes. "What if I turn into some kind of freak?"

"I'm sure it's all temporary," said Odette, her tone suggesting that she was trying to reassure _herself_. "You'll wake up tomorrow, or the next day, and you'll be the way you were again."

"In a wheelchair?" Vanessa snapped. "Forget it. I'd rather stay a girl."

"I'll call Dr. Barrett," Mr. Cooper offered.

"What can he do, man?" said Logan incredulously. "For a case like this, you totally need a _witch_ doctor."

"Logan!" Mrs. Cooper scolded the boy. "There'll be no more talk of witches in this house." She looked seriously at her husband. "Mel, I insist we move immediately, even if we have to plunder the children's college fund to make a down payment."

Mr. Cooper nodded reluctantly. "I agree, dear."

Vanessa stretched her swan neck backwards and gazed down at her unclothed backside. "Omigosh," she remarked. "My butt looks _huge_."

"Hey!" said Odette sharply.

Vanessa gazed at her with pleading eyes. "I'm gonna have to depend on you, sis. You've been a swan all your life, and I just turned into one."

Odette opened her mouth, and her lower beak started to tremble. Grabbing a large towel from the rack to cover herself, she rushed from the bathroom, vanished into her own room, and slammed the door. Vanessa's head bobbed erratically as she followed her sister.

"Odette?" she called out, but she only heard sobs from behind the door.

Mrs. Cooper came up behind Vanessa and put a hand over her shoulder. "Don't worry about her," she said calmly. "She'll be fine. She's just going through her first period."

* * *

"Welcome to first period," said Mrs. Krantz to the fifth-graders who had routinely assembled. "I'll start by calling the roll. Clark Philip Barnes."

"Yo," said Binky, raising his hand.

"Buster Cletis Baxter."

"Here," said Buster.

"Van Cooper, missing. Mary Alice Crosswire, unaccounted for. Ezekiel Eugene England."

"Here," said Zeke quietly.

"Francine Alice Frensky."

"Here," said Francine.

"Susan Ellen Krantz."

"Here," said Sue Ellen.

"George Nordgren, unaccounted for. Arthur Timothy Read."

"Here," said Arthur.

"Beatrice Margaret Simon."

"Here," said Beat.

"Fern May Walters."

"Last, as usual," said Fern.

(A/N: Sorry about all the _said_s.)

"You're not last today," said Mrs. Krantz, looking across the room at the blond swan girl in the peach-colored dress. "We seem to have a new member in our class. Care to introduce yourself?"

Vanessa swallowed. "Uh, not really."

"Say hello to John Smith, class," said Mrs. Krantz.

"All right," Vanessa blurted out. "I'm…I'm…" Her new, unfamiliar neck muscles ached as she tried to come up with a new false name.

_She's gorgeous_, thought Binky wistfully.

"She looks just like Odette Cooper, only younger," Arthur whispered to Francine.

"She's wearing the same dress Vanessa wore," Francine remarked. "Same shoes, too. That's weird. You don't suppose she's…"

"Oh, heck," Vanessa finally said. "I'm Van. You may as well know the truth, since I won't be around much longer."

A gasp spread through the classroom.

"Won't be around much longer?" said Binky, startled. "Why?"

"My mom's had it with all the magical transformations," replied Vanessa. "I turned into a curly-haired swan this morning, and that was the last straw. We're moving."

Another collective gasp was heard.

"How soon?" asked Sue Ellen.

"Next week, my dad says," answered Vanessa.

"If we can still recognize you by then," quipped Beat, "we'll throw you a farewell party."

As soon as first period let out, the kids began to flock around the glum-looking swan girl.

"I'll be sad to see you go," said Fern. "I was just getting to know you."

"You've known me for more than a year," Vanessa pointed out.

"But you're a girl now. I'll have to start all over."

"I just hope Muffy comes back in time to see me off," said Vanessa with emotion.

"Yes," said Beat. "It's not like her to take an extended holiday without boasting about it for weeks beforehand."

* * *

Light-years away on the planet Orelob, Muffy and George held communion with Lieutenant T'l'p'g'r under the sound dome in the Crosswires' room at the Scaly Arms Hotel. George, at Muffy's prodding, had purchased a new wardrobe which he complained made him look like George Jetson. Nearby, Mr. Crosswire was straightening his tie while his wife fed baby Tyson with synthetic milk and strained carrots. (She strongly suspected that the milk really came from alien-abducted cows.)

"Muffy and I have been talking," said George, "and we decided that we want to help your investigation in any way we can."

"_You_ decided that," Muffy chided him.

"What do you propose?" came the alien officer's rumbling voice.

"We'd like to visit with the head of the Black Veil organization," George went on. "He would know more about Heath Holcombe, like whether he was an agent or not."

"I strongly advise against it," said T'l'p'g'r. "The Black Veil has already denied any association with Holcombe, and you would put yourself at risk of exposure by traveling to another planet."

"What do you mean, risk?" said Muffy. "There are 460 million people in this city alone. No one knows where we are, except for you and that big hairy lady."

"I do _not_ know where you are," was T'l'p'g'r's response. "Glieph has not apprised the Thrag Star Police of your location. Also, our communication link passes through an isotropic quantum encryption network, so I have no more power to deduce your whereabouts than anyone else who may be interested in you."

"Thanks," said Muffy flatly. "I feel safer and more confused."

Finished with his tie, Mr. Crosswire picked up an English-to-Mipata language book and began to recite from it. "Galapu nitzakh. Where is the bathroom. Doki blem neegu. I wish for a cigarette."

"The Thrags have matters well in hand," said T'l'p'g'r to the two children. "Your best course of action is to remain where you are, and enjoy the amenities made available to you by the Provision Theta Administration."

George's younger sister Sal charged into the zone underneath the sound dome. "Who are you talking to, Georgie?" she inquired.

"My imaginary friend," her brother answered.

"Who's Muffy talking to?" asked the little antlered girl.

"We have the same imaginary friend," replied George. "Now go play with your robot dolls."

Sal skipped back to her own hotel room, where several long-haired, reptilian-looking figurines marched back and forth under their own power at the foot of her bed. "There you are," said her mother, Mrs. Nordgren. "I was about to send out a search party."

"Please describe the appearance of the missing person," came a gentle female voice from the ceiling speakers.

"Never mind," said the moose woman.

She idled on the bed for a few more minutes, and then her husband hurried in, a leather-bound book in one hand and a serious expression on his face.

"What is it, Carl?" asked Mrs. Nordgren.

"Take a look at _this_, Lena," said her husband, waving the book in front of her face.

"_To Serve Man_," Mrs. Nordgren read the title. "Wait, I know this joke. It's a cookbook, right?"

"Worse," said Mr. Nordgren. "It's a guidebook for lawyers."

"How can that be worse?" asked his wife, sitting up to take a closer look at the tome.

"This book contains a summary of Alliance laws governing relations with Earth people," Mr. Nordgren related. "Chapter 3 is all about Provision Theta." He flipped open the book to a postcard he had inserted. "Guess what, Lena? Participation is _not mandatory_."

"Why should it be?" wondered Mrs. Nordgren. "The Witness Protection Program on Earth isn't."

"The alien lieutenant told us it _was_ mandatory," said her husband earnestly. "Which means we're all being held here against our will."

* * *

Mrs. Cooper received a shock when she drove the family's old Buick to the curb at Lakewood Elementary. She recognized Vanessa, or at least a smaller version of Odette, standing on the sidewalk with several chatting girls. Now a new change had occurred—the swan girl's feathers were black instead of white. Even her blond tresses had become dark as pitch.

"Is that you, Vanessa?" said Odette as she pushed the car door open. "If so, get in."

The black swan girl dropped her book bag from her shoulder, then climbed into the Buick after it. "It started happening during lunch hour," she explained. "I got darker and darker, and by afternoon recess I was completely black."

"It's nothing to be ashamed of," said Odette understandingly.

"That's right," added Mrs. Cooper as she pulled the car onto the street. "Some of my best friends are black swans."

The Buick's ceiling uncomfortably chafed Vanessa's curly scalp as she rode along. "My hair feels different," she remarked to Odette. "I don't know if your stuff will work on it now, sis."

Odette said nothing, but only closed her eyes and grimaced.

Company came almost immediately after they had returned home. Arthur, Francine, and Binky were filled with questions about Vanessa's bizarre changes and the family's relocation plans.

"If you don't mind, Binky," said Arthur, "Francine and I would like to talk to Vanessa alone."

"Sure, whatever," said Binky, noticing that a sad-looking girl was staring at her feet in a nearby room. "I'll go talk to Odette."

Vanessa had to fight to keep her head at eye level with Arthur and Francine as the trio sat down on the couch. "So," Francine began, "what caused these new changes?"

"I wish I knew," said Vanessa, shrugging.

"If Augusta were still around, she might be able to explain it," Arthur observed.

Inside Odette's room, Binky awkwardly tried to comfort the troubled swan girl. "So, what are you eating?" he inquired. "I mean, what's eating you?"

For her response, Odette burst into tears.

Binky groaned inwardly as he watched the streams of salt water course down the girl's beak. _This is why I like Molly_, he thought. _She never cries._

"Hold me, Binky," Odette sobbed.

Binky didn't have to lean over very far to put his arms around the older girl's waist. As he did so, he observed that some parts of Odette's body had taken on intriguing new shapes.

"So many awful things are happening at once," the girl lamented. "My folks want to move away…Van's turned into _me_…"

"But isn't that a good thing?" said Binky. "I mean, for you, not for Van."

"No!" exclaimed Odette, and she began to cry with more volume.

Binky waited with all the patience he could muster for his friend to calm down. _There's got to be a limit to how much a girl can cry_, he thought.

Odette grabbed a corner of the bed sheet to dry her tears. "You don't understand," she said miserably. "When I was kidnapped, they did terrible things to me. They touched me in…in places…"

_When people touch me in places where I don't want to be touched, I clobber them_, thought Binky. _She must be talking about something else._

"After that, I didn't feel the same," Odette recounted. "I felt dirty. I still feel dirty. I know I can't be the kind of girl my mom and dad want me to be. And now Van's a swan girl too, and she's gonna look to me as an example of how to live." She cradled her tear-soaked chin on Binky's left shoulder. "I'm sorry about the waterworks. I don't normally cry so much. It's because I just got my first period."

"But school's over for the day," said Binky stupidly.

"It's not that kind of period," said Odette, pushing the boy away tenderly. "When girls reach a certain age, their bodies go through changes."

"Tell me all about it," said Binky eagerly.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. I want to help."

As Odette explained her situation in detail, Vanessa's conversation with Arthur and Francine continued. "Being a girl's better than being crippled," said the black-feathered girl. "But I just want to stop changing."

As Arthur searched for a comforting reply, the doorbell suddenly rang. Mrs. Cooper went to open it, and was confronted by a pair of strange figures. Blue robes and hoods covered their tall frames. Horse-like noses with wide nostrils protruded from their half-concealed faces, and glowing golden spots were visible on their foreheads.

Upon seeing them, Arthur and Francine leaped to their feet and screamed in terror. _Sentinels!_

"I've already read the Book of Mormon," said Mrs. Cooper as one of the hooded visitors gently but irresistibly forced her to one side. They moved steadily toward the three children, their robes hovering an inch above the carpet.

"What do they want?" said Arthur with alarm.

"I have a better question," said Francine. "Why aren't we running?"

"Wait," said Arthur, grabbing the girl's arm. "Maybe they're here about Greta."

"No," said one of the Sentinels, whom by this time were towering over the three. "We've come for _you_." He pointed a trim finger at the startled Vanessa. Not one of them noticed Binky charging out of Odette's room and running for the front door, a horrified expression on his face.

"Leave her alone!" shouted Arthur, jumping in front of the black swan girl.

The other Sentinel, a female, ignored him and addressed Vanessa. "You are contaminated with magical particles," she stated. "You are a danger to yourself and your friends. You will come with us to the land of the unicorns."

"For…for how long?" asked Vanessa, trembling with fear.

"Indefinitely," answered the Sentinel.

* * *

To be continued! Please write reviews or I die! 


	21. Quack

Realizing that the strange visitors weren't Mormons after all, Mrs. Cooper tiptoed to the phone and quietly picked up the receiver. The male Sentinel detected her, however, and with a slight wave of his hand, caused the phone cord to yank itself out of the wall.

The duck woman's hopes faded along with the dial code. Summoning her courage, she confronted the two Sentinels and asked, "Who are you people? What do you want with Vanessa?"

"Your son, or rather your daughter, was contaminated by the explosion of a unicorn horn," the female Sentinel answered coldly. "Unless we promptly isolate her in our special facility, she'll most likely change into something unnatural, or even inanimate."

"She's not going anywhere with total strangers," said Mrs. Cooper firmly.

"There's no time to argue," said the male Sentinel, seizing one of Vanessa's coal-black arms while his companion took hold of the other. "Stand aside, or we'll have to demonstrate our power."

"Let me go!" cried Vanessa, struggling vainly to break free.

"Don't let them take her!" Arthur begged Mrs. Cooper. "You'll never see her again! They tried to take D.W. away from us!"

Looking around the room for an object she might use as a weapon, Mrs. Cooper snatched up a ceramic vase, tossed out the flowers and water, and hurled it at the female Sentinel's head. Her aim was impeccable, but the robed unicorn woman deflected the projectile with a glance. The vase shattered on the floor, Mrs. Cooper threw up her hands in desperation, and the two Sentinels dragged the screaming Vanessa through the front doorway.

Just as stopping them seemed hopeless…they stopped.

On the street before them stood a small army of dogs, at least ten in number. Foremost among them were a fierce-looking female greyhound, and a male pit bull with sharp, unusually long claws. A long-haired Shih Tzu with a canine wheelchair attached to its hind quarters took up the rear of the group, glancing back and forth between the other dogs as if issuing mental orders.

As Arthur and Francine approached the Sentinels and their prisoner from behind, they noticed the presence of another, more familiar dog—Pal, who was witnessing the standoff from behind a juniper bush.

"It's the X-Pets," Arthur told Francine. "Pal must have seen the Sentinels and tipped them off."

Apparently cowed by the snarling dogs, the male Sentinel learned over to his shorter companion. "We don't want innocent people to be hurt," he whispered. "Let me negotiate with them." The female unicorn nodded.

_Don't be afraid_, Francine heard a soothing male voice say in her head. _They're no match for us._

The greyhound began to bark angrily. "Get your hands off her," the Sentinels understood, "or we won't stop until there's nothing left of you but blue puddles."

The male unicorn responded in an ethereal howling voice. "You don't understand," he pleaded his case. "She's undergoing random magical transformations. She needs treatment, and quickly."

"Then you'll have to treat her here," the greyhound barked.

"We don't have the proper equipment," howled the Sentinel. "It will take time to retrieve it—time we may not have."

"Then I suggest you leave _now_," said the dog.

Without another word or vocalization, the two Sentinels released Vanessa from their grip and sailed swiftly away, following the sidewalk. The black swan girl rubbed her chafed arms and sighed with relief.

"Thanks," said Arthur and Francine together as they waved at the dispersing X-Pets.

_We'll be watching you_, said the voice of The Professor in their minds.

As Pal and the other dogs scurried out of sight, Arthur and Francine led their shaken friend back into her house. "What do you think will happen now?" Francine wondered.

"They'll come back in greater numbers," was Arthur's opinion. "We should find a place to hide."

"You've seen them all before," said Vanessa nervously, "the people in the robes, the dogs…what's it all about?" She felt an odd, pleasant sensation as Arthur took her hands and lowered her onto the couch.

"The Sentinels tried to steal D.W. when she turned into a unicorn," the aardvark boy recounted. "And when Dark Augusta was coming, they tried to kidnap me and Francine to preserve the human race."

"They sound horrible," said Vanessa. She swallowed, and a lump made its way down her long neck.

"By the time they come back, we'll be long gone," said Mrs. Cooper, who was fumbling with the phone cord in an attempt to restore service.

Vanessa gazed wistfully into Arthur's glasses. "You'll stay here and protect me, won't you?" she said sweetly.

"Of course," replied Arthur with a friendly smile.

Seeing the exchange of tender looks between the two made Francine grimace with disgust. "What?" said Vanessa, tearing her eyes away from Arthur. "Is it wrong for me to enjoy looking at a handsome quack?"

"A handsome _what?_" said Arthur.

"Quack quack quack," was Vanessa's response.

As Francine and Arthur gaped in confusion, Vanessa widened her eyes and put her hands over her throat. _Why am I quacking?_ she wondered. _I sound just like a duck._

"Are you all right?" Francine asked her.

Vanessa tried to say, "I don't know," but only quacks came from her mouth.

"I don't think she's all right," Arthur remarked. He looked over his shoulder at Mrs. Cooper, who was engaged in conversation with the police.

Vanessa began to gesture frantically with her hands. "Quack quack quack!" she uttered. Spotting a pen and pad of paper on the desk, she bolted across the room and began to write. Arthur and Francine gasped when they saw what the girl had written: "I can't talk! I can only quack!"

"You'd better see a quack…er, doctor," Francine suggested.

"Quack quack," mourned Vanessa, throwing down her hands in despair.

"Omigosh," said Arthur with sudden alarm. "It's the magical contamination thing."

Equally alarmed, Vanessa put her hands over her beak, quacked silently a few times, and began to write again: "What if it's contagious?"

* * *

to be continued 


	22. Moo With Me

Unaware of what was happening at the Cooper house, Binky wandered aimlessly along the street, recalling in horror the unwelcome knowledge Odette had imparted to him. _Girls are creepier than I ever imagined_, he thought. In his mind's eye he pictured a vast spacecraft setting down on a primordial Earth, and thousands of girls in frilly dresses pouring out of its hatches.

After thoughtlessly circling the block a few times, he finally walked into his own house. His mother was there, busy with her embroidery, as usual. What made the scene different on this occasion was the fact that his girlfriend, Molly, was also embroidering.

He began to stammer. "Molly? You…you're…"

"Hey, Binky," said Molly, her red skirt bouncing as she jumped up. "Come over here and give me a kiss, you big lug."

"You're _knitting_," Binky marveled.

"Yeah, it's fun," said Molly, showing him a half-complete pattern with hearts and birds. "What do you think?"

Binky's brain began to liquefy at an alarming rate. _What should I say?_ _I don't know what to say!_

He pictured himself and Molly three years in the future. While he was much taller and considerably more muscular, Molly had metamorphosed into a slender figure of grace, waltzing about in a white chiffon dress. The blue highlights in her hair complemented her hazel eyes. She had an object in her hands—a pillow upon which she had stitched the images of several Disney princesses in full regalia.

"Do you like it, Binky Winkums?" she asked sweetly.

"Heck, no," her boyfriend replied.

Molly immediately burst into tears. Binky's blood curdled at the sound of her anguished wails.

"I'm…I'm sorry…" he tried to say, but the girl continued to weep bitterly, even using the pillow to mop the tears from her cheeks.

After bawling constantly for about five minutes, Molly finally regained her composure. "Well," she said with a sniffle, "I don't like it either." She then kicked the pillow aside like a soccer ball, and proceeded to blow her nose on her dress.

In the real world, Molly was waiting impatiently for her boyfriend to stop stuttering and answer her question. "You know, in the time it's taking you to answer," she remarked, "I could have saved 15 percent on my car insurance."

"Uh, it's cool," said Binky. "Really cool."

"Whatever," said Molly flippantly. "So, how's about you and me go to Muffin Man, and have some Danish nuthorns?"

"Uh, I'm allergic to peanuts," Binky excused himself. _I think I just became allergic to girls, too_, he thought.

"Danish nuthorns are made with walnuts," Molly informed him.

She stepped closer, caressing the nervous boy's cheek. _So that's why they want boyfriends_, Binky theorized. _They're so creepy, they even creep themselves out. They'll do anything to hang out with someone who isn't like them…_

"Er, I'd love to go out with you," he said anxiously, "but I have a really important, er, spelling bee to study for."

Molly peered suspiciously at the bulldog boy. "An _important_ spelling bee? What's so important about a spelling bee? And when have you even come close to winning one?"

"Uh, never," said Binky sheepishly. "But there's a first time for everything."

The rabbit girl smiled wistfully at him. "At least one of us has aspirations. Kick butt, big boy."

With a final kiss on Binky's cheek, Molly skipped away. _I thought she'd never leave me alone_, the boy thought.

Wandering into his bedroom, he imagined what he would do under the pretense of studying for the bee. _I could watch TV_, he thought, _but my mom would catch me and tell Molly. I can't go outside, 'cause she might see me. I could just sleep, but sleep's boring._

Picking up the dictionary on his shelf, he opened it up to the middle and weighed it carefully in his hands. _Then again, I could do what I'm pretending to do—study._

The bed made a creaking sound as his rear end fell upon it. He opened the large book to its first page. _Aardvark_, he read. _A-A-R-D-V-A-R-K. That one's easy. Let's see if I can spell it with my eyes closed. A-A-R-D-Zzzzzz…"_

* * *

"Moo with me!" yelled Mary Moo Cow from the TV screen. "Everybody moo! Mooooo!"

"Moo! Moo!" repeated D.W. and her friend Nadine.

"Quiet down, girls," called Mrs. Read, but they only mooed louder…and louder.

"Moo with me! Moo with me!" Mary Moo Cow called out, as a fiberglass moon descended from the rafters behind her.

D.W. and Nadine mooed at the top of their lungs. Mrs. Read, unable to bear more, clutched her ears and fantasized about plunging her head into the sink to drown out the racket.

The telephone rang, and she answered it. "Hello?"

"Mom, it's Arthur. Is D.W. there?"

"Sorry, I can't hear you," said the aardvark woman as deafening moos filled the house. "What did you say about underwear?"

"I need to talk to D.W.," said Arthur, raising his voice. "It's an emergency."

"I'll get her," offered Mrs. Read. "D.W.!" she shouted, but the little girl only mooed frantically.

"Tell her that Greta needs her help," said Arthur.

Five seconds later, D.W. was rushing out of the house, mumbling, "Must help Greta…must help Greta…"

At the Cooper house, Arthur and Francine were trying in vain to calm the weeping and quacking Vanessa. "Why did you send for D.W.?" Francine asked Arthur.

"I've got a hunch," the boy answered. "If Vanessa's contaminated with unicorn magic, then maybe we can change her by wishing."

Vanessa pulled her hands away from her sore eyes, only to discover that she had grown webs between her fingers. "Quaaaaaack!" she wailed in misery.

"If it's that easy," said Francine, "then why don't we just wish for her to turn back into her old self?"

"First, she doesn't want to go back to being a crippled boy," Arthur explained. "Second, she'd still be contaminated—she'd just start changing again."

Mrs. Cooper gave them both a patronizing look. "It's not your problem anymore," she said decisively. "She's going to the hospital, and then we're leaving this God-forsaken city and never coming back."

"What makes you think she'll get better at the hospital?" Francine chided the woman. Nearby, Odette lugged a suitcase out of her room and laid it down.

"I'm not going to argue about it anymore," said Mrs. Cooper, just as D.W. came hurtling through the door.

"I ran here as fast as my little legs would carry me," said the aardvark girl. "Where's Greta? I don't see her."

"She's right here," said Arthur, motioning at Vanessa.

D.W. looked at the sorrowing girl and folded her arms. "That's not Greta," she said peevishly.

"An evil magic spell is turning her into a duck," Arthur told her.

"Quack quack quack," sobbed Vanessa, trying to play along with the deception.

D.W.'s eyes widened with childish gullibility. "Omigosh, she's covered with feathers!" she cried. "What can I do to help?"

"There's only one way to break the spell," said Arthur mysteriously. "Her very best friend in the whole world must wish for her to turn back into a unicorn."

"Quack _quack?_" said Vanessa, startled at her friend's pronouncement.

"No, it won't hurt at all," Arthur assured her.

Her heart bursting, D.W. threw her arms around the black swan girl. "I _do_ wish it!" she exclaimed. "I wish for you to stop turning into a duck, and become a unicorn again!"

Despite her sincerity, nothing happened.

While D.W. waited for the magic to happen, Francine pulled Arthur aside. "A _unicorn?_" she whispered in outrage. "What on Earth are you thinking?"

"Unicorns are immune to their own magic," Arthur reminded her. "If she turns into a unicorn, the magical contamination won't hurt her anymore."

"That just might work," said Francine, her voice growing louder. "Except you didn't bother to explain to her that once she turns into a unicorn, she's stuck—for thousands of years!"

"Well, I didn't want to get her hopes up," said Arthur with a shrug.

D.W. strengthened her grip on Vanessa's heaving waist. "Become a unicorn again!" she chanted. "Be a unicorn again! I wish it with all my heart!"

"I wish with all _my_ heart that you'd give it up," said Mrs. Cooper, setting a hand on D.W.'s shoulder and rudely yanking her backwards. "It's time for you kids to go home, because we're leaving _now_."

"No!" cried Arthur. "Wait for the Sentinels to come back!"

But the duck woman was no longer listening. Seizing Vanessa's webbed hand, she dragged the girl toward the front door, accompanied by Odette and her suitcase.

"Wait! Wait!" called D.W. She tried to run after Vanessa, but Arthur and Francine restrained her arms.

While she was being pushed out of the house, Vanessa swiveled her neck and looked sadly at her friends. They watched the hope drain from her eyes.

And then they saw something strange develop _between_ her eyes.

A crusty growth appeared in the center of her forehead. It began to spread and twist, becoming longer and sharper. Then she turned her face away from them for the last time. They followed her as far as the yard, but Mrs. Cooper was determined to leave quickly, and the Buick sped away before they could get another look.

"Was that what I _thought_ it was?" wondered Francine.

"I guess we'll never know," said Arthur dolefully.

A tear wended its way down D.W.'s cheek. "I _knew_ she was alive," she lamented. "And she _was_ alive. But now I've lost her again."

"Uh, D.W.," said Arthur slowly, "I have something to confess."

* * *

To be continued—as soon as I get more reviews! 


	23. Home Away From Home

The Elci Kahaf Coliseum, a 500-foot-high structure that could comfortably seat 240,000 people, was built around a technology called Spectrotechnics. Synthesized prisms had been installed in front of each seat, allowing audience members to choose between the dozen or so productions being carried out simultaneously on the football field-sized stage. While George and his sister Sal were watching colossal robots fight to the death on the west end of the field, Muffy had tuned her prism to receive the flower show, held a safe distance away on the east end.

"Check out that blue robot," George marveled breathlessly. "It's gotta be a hundred feet tall."

Jenny, the alien guide, leaned her artichoke-shaped head to his ear. "Cyber Throwdown entrants are limited by regulations to no more than eighty feet in height," she told the moose boy.

"Just _look_ at that huge pink one, Mom," said Muffy, gesturing. "It's like a mutant radioactive chrysanthemum. I could _live_ inside of it." The monkey girl wore her new optical fabric dress, which showed a real-time image of her face on the front.

George glanced aside at Muffy's prism, and the rows of man-sized blooms on display. "Giant flowers," he said arrogantly. "They may be big, but they're still boring."

"They're _pretty_," Muffy retorted. "They serve a useful function, unlike your stupid robots."

"Robots do _too_ serve a useful function," said George. "They're cool."

"Yeah," Sal agreed. "And they can do all the dirty jobs so people don't have to. Like fighting." The girl's braids flipped about as she turned her head to see the giant blue robot rip a claw from a monstrous metal lobster.

After the shows had ended, the Nordgrens and Crosswires filed out through one of the many exits, accompanied by Jenny and a mob of dwarfish humanoids covered head-to-toe in red latex. One of the dwarves stared at George through its glass visor, until another slapped it with a black-gloved hand, as if to scold it for being impolite.

A series of monorail cars transported the audience members from the coliseum; in one car, Muffy, George, and their families were entirely surrounded by the red latex aliens. Muffy was elated to find that the upholstered monorail seats were more comfortable than the hard coliseum chairs. _My butt thanks you_, she thought.

"Hey, Jenny," said George to his alien friend, "why do they all wear those red suits? They look like Santa's elves."

"They're wearing environmental suits," replied Jenny, pointed teeth visible through her pale lips. "The atmosphere of Orelob is toxic to them."

"I'm glad it's not toxic to _us_," said Muffy, gazing out the window at the dimming blue sun. "Red latex is _so_ gauche."

Mr. Crosswire seemed deep in thought as he watched the city's lighted towers fly past. "It _is_ a happy coincidence that this planet's atmosphere is so similar to Earth's," he remarked.

"My planet has an atmosphere of pure methane," Jenny related. "We can't live on Orelob without cybernetic implants that convert the oxygen and nitrogen to a form we can use. Would you like to see my implants?"

"No, he wouldn't," Mrs. Crosswire chimed in.

"If you don't mind my asking," Mr. Nordgren asked the alien girl, "where did you learn to speak English?"

Jenny answered without hesitation. "We Kressidans are the linguists of the Alliance. Every Kressidan child has to learn the language of a fourth-galaxy planet to graduate from elementary school."

"Are you planning to visit Earth someday?" George asked her.

Jenny shook her head and smiled gently.

"Then what's the point of learning English?" George wondered.

"Yeah, what _is_ the point?" added Sal. "I'll probably never go to England."

"I have another question," said Mr. Nordgren, his tone growing more serious. "Is there an Earth embassy in the city?"

Mr. Crosswire shot the moose man an annoyed look.

Jenny wrung her hands for a bit, then answered, "I don't know."

"Is there an Earth embassy anywhere on the _planet?_" Mr. Nordgren pressed her.

"Not that I know of," replied the alien girl.

He had many more questions, but Jenny was clearly no help. _The situation is worse than I imagined_, he thought.

Once in his hotel room at Scaly Arms, George quickly took off his loathed George Jetson shirt and put on a V-necked pajama top. Because the suite offered only two bedrooms, he had to share one with Sal, so he made sure to face away while his sister changed into her sleepwear. Then, as he was putting one foot on the mattress to climb into his bed, Mr. Nordgren stepped into the room and made a bold pronouncement.

"Sleep well, kids. We're getting out of here in the morning."

George felt both confusion and hope. "But the hearing's in two days," he pointed out. "Muffy and I need to testify."

"If the Crosswires know what's good for them, they'll leave too," his father went on. "This is no witness protection program. We've been abducted—I don't know for what purpose, and we're not sticking around to find out."

His wife, hearing his statement from the kitchen, stepped past the holographic chef and entered. "What is it now, honey?"

"You heard my conversation with Jenny on the train," said her husband with a hint of anger. "She doesn't know if Orelob has an Earth embassy. For all we know, there may not be one. And if there isn't one, then we have no protection, no rights—we're _illegal aliens_."

"You're starting to make sense," said his wife, a bit fearfully.

"Jenny should know about such things," Mr. Nordgren continued. "She's employed by the hotel to assist Earth people. She's the one who gave me the Earth legal guide."

"Oh, dear," said Mrs. Nordgren, mostly to herself. "We could be arrested, and the authorities wouldn't know what to do with us."

"Maybe Jenny's a phony," George suggested.

"Yes," said his father, nodding. "Maybe _nothing_ is what it really seems."

"We could be locked up indefinitely," said his wife, apparently absorbed in her own worries.

"I don't think we can trust Jenny," said Mr. Nordgren as he paced the floor. "But where does that leave us? We don't know any other English speakers."

"I have an idea," said George, jumping down from the mattress. "On Earth they send illegal aliens back to their own countries, right?"

"Yes," said his father, intrigued. "Are you suggesting we get ourselves deported?"

George nodded. "It's easy. All we have to do is show the police that our IDs are fake."

Mr. Nordgren spent much of the Orelobian night mulling George's proposition, among others. _We could do something illegal and get arrested_, he thought many times. _But we could easily get separated from the kids, and who knows where they'd end up?_

The scent of pancakes awakened them the next morning, as Mrs. Nordgren had invited the alien chef to prepare an authentic Earth breakfast. To their dismay, the chef had somehow developed the notion that the list of ingredients for pancakes included jalapeño peppers.

The enticing smell led Muffy into their hotel room; the girl was wearing her old Earth dress, and hadn't yet fixed her hair. "Mmm, jalapeño pancakes!" she said wistfully. "Just like the ones we had in New Mexico."

George, who had lost interest in food, gave her a quick kiss. "I hope you're coming with us, Muffy," he said earnestly.

"Where are you going?" the monkey girl asked.

"To find the Earth embassy, if there is one."

The wheels in Muffy's head turned, and she frowned disappointedly. "You're trying to get back to Earth," she said in a pained tone of voice.

"It's what Dad wants," George told her. "He thinks something sinister's going on, and I agree with him."

"Well, of _course_ something sinister's going on," said Muffy, waving her hands to make a point. "Heath Holcombe wasn't accidentally run over by a little old lady on her way to bingo."

Mr. Nordgren walked into the dining area, fastening the top button of the white shirt he had purchased at Alien Overlord & Taylor's. "Our rights have been violated, Muffy," he stated firmly. "We shouldn't be here, and we're not staying."

George grasped Muffy's hands tightly. "Please come with us," he begged.

All Muffy could feel was affection for the doe-eyed moose boy. Nonetheless, she had her own opinion.

"No, George," she said quietly and tenderly. "I'm staying."

George's jaw started to fall.

"Where you see a crisis, we see an opportunity," Muffy went on. "My parents and I are all agreed—we want to _live_ in Elci Kahaf."

* * *

to be continued 

With apologies to Matt Groening and _Futurama _for the "Alien Overlord & Taylor's" reference.


	24. Not What She Seems

"You can't be serious!" Mr. Nordgren sputtered at the smug-looking monkey man before him.

"Look around you, Carl," said Mr. Crosswire, waving his hand at the picture window and the city that sprawled endlessly below their feet. "460 million people, God knows how many different alien races, and they all get along. Have you seen any poverty? Have you seen any homeless people?"

"That's the face they put forward for _tourists_, Ed," said the moose man sharply. "You have no idea how hard it'll be for you to make a living here."

"Or how _easy_," said Mr. Crosswire with a confident grin.

The two men argued for what seemed an eternity to Muffy and George—fifteen minutes, maybe even twenty. Their wives had the same difficulty in coming to an agreement.

"You have a _baby_, for crying out loud," Mrs. Nordgren reminded Mrs. Crosswire. "How will you make sure he gets the right nutrition? How will you find a proper school for him?"

Both George and Muffy experienced a sinking feeling as they realized they would soon have to part. "I wish we could all go together," said George, his grip on Muffy's hand tightening.

"I'll never forget you, George," said Muffy with emotion. "Even if I hook up with an alien boyfriend, or a whole string of alien boyfriends, you'll always have a special place in my memory."

_That's so sweet_, thought George.

_After having a boyfriend like you_, thought Muffy, _I'm ready for whatever weirdness the alien dating scene can throw at me._

"I hope I get to see you again, Muffy," said George, and the two children shared a heartwarming kiss.

"And furthermore, their version of Earth coffee is terrible," Mr. Nordgren ranted. "I wouldn't stay in this city if they paid me to."

"They _are_ paying us to, Carl," replied Mr. Crosswire, just as the alien Jenny entered the hotel room through the sliding door.

"Mr. Elwood," the spiky-haired girl addressed Mr. Nordgren, "I looked up the location of the Earth embassy. It's in the capital city of Labui-keth, more than two thousand of your miles from here."

"Take us there," the moose man ordered without a moment's pause.

"It's a two-day journey," Jenny told him, "and there are no attractions in the capital—only government buildings."

"We _like_ government buildings," said Mr. Nordgren, feigning delight. "And we like long trips. Don't we, kids?"

George groaned. "Are we there yet?" said Sal dejectedly.

Jenny's bold yellow eyes registered concern. "But…but there's so much happening in the city tonight," she said, her three voices quivering. "You _must_ attend the Horsehead Nebula Symphony Orchestra's concert. It's a rare opportunity; all the other orchestras in their class were destroyed by Dark Augusta."

Mr. Nordgren took on a comforting tone of voice. "Don't worry, Jenny. Muffy's not going anywhere, and she saw everything that George saw. One witness should be enough for the hearing to take place, shouldn't it?"

"According to regulations, both witnesses have to…"

Jenny caught herself and stopped speaking. Her pointed ears started to wiggle.

"Aha!" exclaimed Mr. Nordgren triumphantly. "You _do_ know who we are." The alien girl started to back away, but the moose man grabbed her slender arm before she could escape.

"I was right," George boasted to his sister and Muffy. "She _is_ a phony."

Jenny squirmed and struggled, but Mr. Nordgren held her tightly. "You don't work for the hotel," he said accusingly. "You're part of this so-called witness protection program. I want to know what's really going on. Talk!"

Jenny calmed down, then swallowed. "It's true," she admitted. "I'm a Provision Theta agent. I was assigned at the last minute to pose as a concierge, guide you around the city, and make sure you don't wander far from the hotel. This is my first time on Orelob; I've been learning as I go."

Satisfied, Mr. Nordgren released her wrist. "We're going to the Earth embassy," he declared. "We could use a guide. Are you in?"

Jenny's yellow pupils seemed to roll back into her head as she thought.

"We're prepared to go without you," said the moose man.

The artichoke-headed girl finally nodded her assent.

* * *

(A/N: Fear not, true believers. The cat women are coming soon.) 


	25. Buster's Baby

"Welcome aboard the Magnetotrain," boomed a harsh, gravelly voice where George might have expected to hear a gentle female one. "We will be traveling at a top speed of 300 miles per hour. Before we get underway, please turn off all portable electromagnetic devices, including electromagnets."

The moose boy looked over at Jenny, who was strapped into the next train seat over. "Why would anybody want to carry around an electromagnet?" he inquired.

"Orelob has a very weak magnetic field," the alien girl replied. "Visitors from other planets sometimes use magnets to replicate the strong fields they're accustomed to. Then there are the Narcissans, who use magnets to make themselves more attractive to the opposite sexes."

Before George had a chance to make an awful pun about having a "magnetic personality", the long, long train car lurched forward. The restraints held George and Sal in place, but they felt as if their stomachs had been left behind and were running to catch up. Soon the vehicle stopped accelerating and began to run smoothly, so much so that the kids almost believed that the train was standing still, and the city was speeding past them.

"Are we there yet?" Sal asked no one in particular.

"Yes, we are," replied her brother jokingly. "But the train doesn't stop here; you'll have to jump out and hit the ground running."

The bullet-shaped train sailed through the outskirts of Elci Kahaf, suspended above the rails by a powerful magnetic field. The inside of the vehicle reminded the Nordgrens of the Boston subways they had frequented in the old days, with advertisements in an alien language plastered on the sides of the ceiling.

"Hey, Jenny," said George, "you said this would be a two-day trip—but if we're going at 300 miles per hour, we should get there in _one_ day."

"The train will make seven layovers," Jenny explained. Turning to Mr. Nordgren, she said seriously, "I suggest you and your family keep a low profile during the layovers."

"Keep a low profile?" said the moose man incredulously. "When we're the only humans on the whole planet?"

"You especially want to avoid trouble with the Thrags," Jenny warned him. "Even the _good_ ones make The Terminator look like a girl scout."

"You know about The Terminator?" Sal marveled.

Jenny nodded. "When I was in college on the planet Kressida, I was part of an Earth Culture club. My friends and I would stay up all night watching Earth movies, listening to pop music, and drinking diet soda." She sighed wistfully. "Earthlings may be technologically backwards, but we can still learn a lot from them. Kressidan scientists are only now starting to realize the health benefits of saccharin."

"You may now move freely about the cabin," came the grating voice from the overhead speakers.

"Yay!" exclaimed Sal, ripping off her seat belt and shoulder harness. "I can do gymnastics!"

"I don't think that's what he meant by _freely_," said George, but his little sister was already cartwheeling down the aisle.

_

* * *

Abacus…abate…abattoir…_

The words on the page were starting to form a blur, and Binky could scarcely remember why he was studying them.

"Telephone," said his mother, peeking into the bedroom. "It's your girlfriend, Binky Winkums."

He suddenly remembered why he was reading the dictionary. Taking the receiver, he lifted it nervously to his ear. "Uh, hi, Odette…er, Molly."

The rabbit girl's voice carried a hint of jealousy. "Expecting a call from the swan, were you?"

"No," said Binky sheepishly. "Odette's too weird for me. I was at her house yesterday, and all she could do was cry, and tell me about the crazy stuff that's happening to her body, and then cry some more."

"Yeah, girls are like that," said Molly semi-seriously. "When they hit puberty, watch out."

_It's gonna happen to her, too_, thought Binky warily. _And she knows it._

"Are you still studying for the spelling bee?" Molly asked him. "If not, we'd love to have you over for pizza."

"Uh, sorry, I can't," was Binky's response. "I really want to win this one. Some other time, maybe."

"Okay," said Molly disappointedly. "I understand."

Binky swallowed as he hung up the phone. _If I blow it at the spelling bee, she'll be on to me. I have no choice—I've got to keep my nose in the stupid dictionary._

As he struggled through the words starting with _ac_, another call came for him. "Hey, Binky, it's Buster," said his friend's voice over the phone.

"What's up?" he inquired.

"I want you to come over and meet my new baby sister," said Buster eagerly.

_Buster…has a baby sister?_ Binky stammered mentally. _When did this happen?_

"Her name's Petula," said Buster, as if to explain. "My mom adopted her. She's the cutest thing."

Binky was about to accept the invitation, but a thought struck him. _I can't let Molly think that Buster's new sister is more important to me than she is._

"Sorry," he said hesitantly. "I'm too busy studying for the spelling bee."

He heard a few seconds of silence on the line, followed by raucous laughter. He quickly hung up.

At Buster's condo, the rabbit boy couldn't stop himself from laughing. "What's so funny?" Fern wanted to know.

Buster, clutching his gut and doubling over, could hardly speak. "Binky…he's…he's _studying_…"

Fern gave him a peevish look. "That's a _good_ thing," she stated.

"Yeah, it is," chuckled Buster. "But it's also…freakin'…_funny_."

While he laughed himself silly, his mother, Bitzi, was clothing baby Petula in a tiny pink dress. "What do you think of your new mommy, huh?" she gushed affectionately.

Fern gazed at the scene, and a wry smile formed on her lips. "You'll have to compete for your parents' attention now," she remarked to her boyfriend.

"Meh," said Buster with an indifferent shrug.

Bitzi withdrew an empty bottle of formula from Petula's mouth. "Little girl, you have the biggest appetite I've _ever_ seen," she said playfully.

A chill of horror passed through Buster's heart. "Omigosh, she'll eat us out of house and home!" he began to rant. "I'll starve to death! What am I gonna do?"

"Call Alan," said Fern, handing him the phone receiver. "He's the last on your list."

Mrs. Powers received his call. "Hi, it's Buster," said the boy. "Is Alan around?"

To his surprise, the call was promptly disconnected.

Alan looked grimly at his mother, who had just slammed down the telephone and appeared to have eaten a storm cloud. "Who was that?" he asked.

Mrs. Powers glared at him with pain and anger. "I forbid you to talk to the Baxter boy ever again," she said decisively.

* * *

to be continued 


	26. One of Two Masses

"_What?_" Alan blurted out in horror.

"I didn't stutter," said his mother, her frown apparently glued to her face. "You weren't there when Bitzi and I were contending for custody of Petula. She convinced the judge that I was absent-minded and forgetful—just because I have some unexplained problems with my memory. 'A woman who forgets her own son can't be trusted with a baby,' she said. She should be named B!tchy instead of Bitzi—in fact, that's what I'm going to call her from now on."

Stunned, Alan could only gape silently and try to keep his tongue from lolling.

"And just because I call someone a b!tch doesn't mean you can do the same," Mrs. Powers went on. "It's still a no-no word."

Alan simply shook his head and walked away. _She'll change her mind after she calms down_, he hoped. _But in case she doesn't, I'd better play the daddy card._

He found his father in the den, reading a book called _Seven More Habits of Highly Successful Married Couples_ and occasionally outlining passages in yellow. "Hey, Dad," he said plaintively, "Mom says I'm not allowed to talk to Buster anymore."

Mr. Powers looked up at him and smiled slightly. "That's her prerogative," he stated. "Your mother has always taken the lead in setting down rules for the children—at least so she tells me. I can't actually remember, so I have to take her word."

"You should have heard what she called Mrs. Baxter," said Alan.

"You should have heard what _I_ called her when your mother told me the outcome of the custody hearing," said Mr. Powers.

Seeing he would get nowhere with his parents, Alan wandered to his room to do the one thing that always took his mind away from his troubles—homework.

Unaware that the Powers family had just officially declared him an enemy, Buster knocked on the door to Binky's room. "Who's there?" came a gruff, bored-sounding voice.

"It's me, Buster," replied the rabbit boy, who held a large, worn dictionary under his arm.

"I'm busy," said Binky, who at that moment was trying to get his mind around the word _adenoid_.

"How busy are you?" Buster asked him.

Binky pondered the question for a moment, then answered, "Too busy for my girlfriend."

"Whoa," said Buster in amazement. "That's pretty busy."

He was about to depart without further ado, when Binky abruptly opened the door. "What do you want?" asked the bleary-eyed bulldog boy.

Buster grinned. "I couldn't believe it when you told me you were boning up for the spelling bee," he related. "But since you really are, I thought it would be nice if we studied together."

Binky suppressed a groan. _My little lie is getting out of hand_, he thought.

"I totally stink at spelling," Buster continued. "I keep telling myself I'll read the dictionary someday, but every time I try to do it, I wake up in a puddle of drool. Maybe what I need is a study buddy—someone who'll be there to clobber me when I fall asleep."

"Yeah, I suppose we could work together," said Binky, warming up to his friend's proposal. "What about Fern? Does she want to be a part of it as well?"

"Are you kidding?" Buster chuckled. "She _won_ the last spelling bee."

"Only because Beat spelled _dishonor_ with a _u_," Binky recalled.

Once seated at the desk, Buster flipped the pages in his old dictionary until he found the word Binky was currently examining (he didn't have to flip many pages). "Hmm…_adenoid_," he mused. "One of two masses of lym…lymp…lymph…"

"That's about as far as I got," said Binky.

"Fern knows what adenoids are," said Buster. "She used to have them, but she went to the hospital to get them removed."

"Dude, girls have a _lot_ of crazy things boys don't have," Binky remarked. "If I was a girl, I'd want to get them removed too."

"You sure it's just girls who have them?" said Buster with uncertainty.

"Uhhh…" said Binky, deep in thought.

"Wait a minute," said Buster suddenly. "It says, _one of two masses_. You know those two lumps on Beat's chest that she wasn't supposed to get for another few years? Maybe _those_ are adenoids."

"Yeah, you could be right." Binky felt a pleasant sensation in the pit of his stomach. "Hey, it really _is_ fun to learn."

"I should ask my mom about adenoids," said Buster.

"No way!" Binky objected. "I asked _my_ mom a question like that once, and she slapped me. We'll have to figure it out on our own."

Buster smiled wistfully. "Mmmmm…forbidden knowledge."

And he knew just where to find it. After an hour of rehearsing spelling words with Binky, he rushed to a nearby park, where his old friends Toby and Slink were enjoying a routine skateboarding session.

"Hey, guys," he called out upon reaching the paved area.

"Hey, check it out, man," said Toby, grinding to a halt with the heel of his sneaker.

"Check what out?" said Buster as he glanced around.

"You, man," said Toby, pointing at him. "Your ears just keep getting longer. I'll bet you could, like, hear an astronaut fart on the moon."

"What's your business, man?" said Slink with a hint of mockery. "You wanna learn some cool skateboard tricks? Or maybe you changed your mind, and decided you wanna read the little book about _seeeex_ that our principal gives out."

Buster's heart pounded anxiously, but he put on a brave face. "Yeah, man," he responded. "You totally read my mind."

* * *

to be continued 


	27. Nifty Ways to Leave Your Lover

Even if Bitzi hadn't been utterly absorbed in her maternal duties, she wouldn't have noticed that her son was reading a piece of literature far beyond his grade level. This was because Buster had cleverly concealed the middle-school sex education brochure inside of a Bionic Bunny comic book.

The words shocked and astonished him, the pictures doubly so. _I'll never look at girls the same way again_, he thought. _From now on I'll cover my eyes._

His mother took a quick break from rocking Petula to gently scold him: "I wish you'd put down that comic book and read something _really_ educational."

_Be careful what you wish for_, thought the bunny boy.

Once he had finished reading the pamphlet, he hurried back to Binky's house to share what he had discovered. The bulldog boy still had his face buried in the dictionary—quite literally, as he had dozed off while learning the word _affectation_.

"Binky!" said Buster, charging into the room without an invitation. "You've _got_ to read this."

The boy lazily raised his head out of the large book. Examining the booklet in Buster's hand, he mumbled, "I hope this is better than that 'Russian Weather Machines Caused Hurricane Katrina' rubbish you showed me last time."

"It's scarier," said Buster, slapping the brochure onto Binky's desk. "I used to think there was nothing scarier than girls. But there _is_ something scarier—it's called _sex_."

His curiosity piqued, Binky flipped through the glossy pages. One paragraph in particular, and its accompanying illustration, brought him to a dead stop. "Oh, gosh!" he exclaimed in outrage. "That's so gross! I would _never_ do that!"

"I'm not ready for that kind of relationship," said Buster, his voice quivering with anxiety. "If I'd known that's what boys and girls do to make babies, I'd never have let Fern jump on top of me the way she did."

"Oh, geez," Binky moaned. "I think she wants to have your baby, man."

Buster's expression grew dark. "How am I gonna tell her?" he said glumly. "Do you remember when she told us about the story she wrote in her diary? She had a crush on Alan, and in the story she jumped off a cliff into the ocean because he was untrue to her. Well, I read her diary—and it's really in there."

"Gosh," said Binky in astonishment. "She let you read her diary?"

Buster grinned sheepishly. "Er, uh, yeah. She _let_ me."

"You and I have the same problem," Binky admitted. "I need to find a way to let Molly down easily."

"Whoa," said Buster in astonished fear. "Molly wouldn't kill herself—but she just might kill _you_."

"Don't panic," said Binky earnestly. "I'm sure we can come up with an idea if we put our heads together."

"But that would hurt," Buster protested.

"I didn't say _bang_ our heads together," said Binky in an incredulous tone.

The two boys sat across the room from each other and began to think. They thought for what seemed like a very long time, but was in actuality a very short time.

"Got anything?" said Binky.

"Yeah," was Buster's reply. "Your bedroom is cold."

They thought some more. "We could shave our heads and wear robes to school," Binky proposed. "The girls'll think we've joined the Hare Krishnas."

"Yeah," said Buster with a wide, excited smile. "Here's an even better idea—let's _join_ the Hare Krishnas."

Binky slapped his forehead and groaned.

"I met some Hare Krishna monks at the Chicago O'Hare airport once," Buster related. "Their lifestyle sounds appealing—going without meat, hours of chanting every day…"

"Let's bang our heads together," Binky interrupted.

Three painful head bangs later, Buster presented another idea. "Let's go to school wearing wigs and dresses, and tell everyone we've turned into girls, like Van did."

"Hey, I _like_ that idea!" said Binky semi-deliriously. "But to make it more convincing, we'll plug the bathtub drain with marshmallows until it overflows."

Buster only stared blankly at him.

"What?" said Binky peevishly.

"That actually made sense to me," said Buster in a worried tone. "We'd better get our brains examined."

Binky sighed. "This is gonna take a while. Let's switch back to the George subplot."

At that very moment, George and his whole family were asleep in their train seats—except for Sal, who was pressing her nose against the window glass to watch a grove of pastel-colored alien trees whiz by. There wasn't a Thrag in sight.

"Booooring," said Binky.

"We'll just have to tell them the truth," said Buster in exasperation. "We're not ready to have girlfriends. End of story."

THE END

"That's not what I meant," said Buster.

"Yeah, I suppose you're right," said Binky with a nod.

"And another thing," Buster went on. "We should dump them at the same time, together. That way, they're less likely to take it personally."

"Good idea," said Binky. "But just to make sure it isn't another brain-damaged delusion, let's sleep on it."

* * *

What will happen when Buster and Binky dump their girlfriends? Find out in the next thrilling chapter! (Oh, and the cat women will finally make their appearance.) 


	28. When Muffy Takes the Stand

_The name on everybody's lips is gonna be…Muffy!_

_The lady eating fish and chips is gonna be…Muffy!_

_I'm gonna be a celebrity_

_That means somebody everyone knows_

_They're gonna recognize my face_

_My eyes, my teeth, my shoes, my clothes_

_Instead of some car salesman's daughter I'm gonna be…Muffy!_

_Who says that whining's not an art?_

(To the tune of "Roxie" from the musical _Chicago_)

* * *

"What's wrong?" Muffy asked the alien hairdresser, who had just arranged her hair in spiraling Princess Leia braids.

The green, three-eyed man clicked his tongue disapprovingly. "The dwess will have to go," he said with a thick accent. "It is far too distwacting."

Muffy looked down and picked up the hem of her optical fiber dress; she could see her own face speaking as she replied to the hairdresser. "But I _love_ this dress. What do you expect me to wear, a potato bag?"

"What is wong with, as you Earthwings call it, your birthday suit?" asked the hairdresser.

"I didn't get a suit for my birthday," said Muffy, puzzled.

Another figure walked hastily into the salon—a tall woman with a long, pointed nose, whose black hair spread out like palm leaves. "Is Miss Crosswire ready to make her appearance?" she inquired.

"Just a few minutes more, Gandoline," replied the green man. "There is a small matter of her dwess."

The alien woman peered at Muffy's attire through wide purple eyes. "That won't do at all," she stated. "The reflection of the lights will create a tremendous glare. Take it off."

Muffy gaped in astonishment. "Take it _off?_ But I have nothing else to wear!"

"Take it off at once," insisted Gandoline.

"But…but…" Muffy stammered. "But I can't go on interplanetary TV in my underwear!"

"Then take that off as well," said the woman curtly.

Horrified, Muffy turned to the hairdresser, as if hoping he would defend her decency. Instead, the green man faced Gandoline and said, "It is vewy common for Earthwings to be ashamed of their naked form."

"I am _not_ going out there in the buff!" Muffy snapped.

Gandoline knelt and began to speak gently to her. "I understand that this is the first time you've left your planet. What _you_ need to understand is that the races of the Alliance have customs different from your own. There's one thing they mostly agree on, however—seeing an unfamiliar alien in a state of undress can be an illuminating experience."

"You're all pervs," grumbled Muffy.

"You've spent time in Elci Kahaf," the alien woman pointed out. "No doubt you saw hundreds of people walking the streets without a shred of clothing."

"Yes," Muffy admitted, "but that's different. They're aliens."

"From our point of view, _you're_ an alien," stated Gandoline.

"No, I'm not," said Muffy incredulously. "I'm from Earth."

* * *

In a small hotel hundreds of miles from Elci Kahaf, the Nordgrens were being treated to a strange but delicious breakfast. Behind George's back, an alien with gray rhino-like skin was pouring a milky substance directly into a hole in the top of its head, and making a loud slurping noise. George grimaced and turned back to his hard-boiled eggs, only to discover, when he took a bite out of one, that they were actually _crunchy_.

"They're like candy eggs," said Sal as she tried to stuff an entire one into her mouth.

"Yeah," said George thoughtfully. "Laid by a candy bird."

As they enjoyed the repast, one odd-looking person after another filed into the dining room. Some took the available seats, while others remained standing; one in particular had four legs and no need of a chair. "What are they all staring at?" Mrs. Nordgren wondered. "It's like they've never seen humans before."

"It's a safe bet they haven't," her husband remarked.

"They're not staring at us," said George. "They're staring at the TV."

They looked over to the wall, on which was mounted a display screen roughly ten feet wide. On it was unfolding a solemn occasion in a stately hall, with about two dozen aliens seated, some dressed formally, a few not dressed at all. Gandoline stood at the center of the venue, addressing the others in a sputter-heavy language.

"Klaatu berrada Muffy Crosswire nikto," she proclaimed.

The moose children's eyes went wide with excitement. "It's Muffy!" they exclaimed.

Eager repetitions of the name Muffy were heard throughout the room. "They're _all_ waiting to see her," Mr. Nordgren realized.

As George and Sal witnessed breathlessly, Muffy stepped out of a corridor into the meeting hall, wearing only her shoes, stockings, and slip. "Oh, my…" George blurted out.

"She's indecent!" cried Mrs. Nordgren.

Murmurs of pleasure filled the dining room as the gathered aliens watched Muffy take her place at the stand. The flimsily dressed girl smiled at the camera and waved at the participants and the audience. She began to speak, but instead of the girlish voice they knew, the bass voice of an alien translator greeted their ears.

"Gosh, I wish this were in English," said George glumly. "This may be the last time I ever hear her voice."

Mrs. Nordgren pried her eyes from the TV screen long enough to look over her shoulder—and find that her daughter was in the act of unclothing herself. "Sal! What in heaven's name…" she scolded.

"Everybody's doing it," said Sal, tossing her dress to one side. The aliens paid little heed as the moose girl waltzed around the room in only her underpants.

* * *

Light years away in the city of Washington, D.C., the Secretary of Defense burst into the Oval Office with a look of concern on his face. "Mr. President, we have a situation," he declared.

"Yes, Donald?" said the President of the United States.

"I've just received word from the governor of Minnesota," the Secretary of Defense told him. "Thousands of cat women have appeared out of nowhere. I think it could be the beginning of an invasion."

* * *

to be continued 


	29. Meow

In the outskirts of Crown City, on a street lined with narrow, cramped houses, the Coopers found a place they would call home until they succeeded at selling their old house and buying a new one.

"Dude, it looks totally haunted," Logan remarked at the sight of the 100-year-old house made of chipped, fading bricks.

"Since when do you believe in ghosts?" inquired his sister, Odette.

"Since I decided I don't like this place," was Logan's reply.

"You're going to live here, and you're going to like it," said Mrs. Cooper with steely resolve. The children followed reluctantly as she and her husband marched through the screen door and set down their suitcases on the bare, dusty wooden floor. Every part of the old structure seemed to creak visibly before them.

"You said I had a choice between living in a nicer house and going to college," said Dallin as he examined a cracked and yellowed window pane.

"You're going to college," his mother stated.

Every member of the family was in awe of their musty, dilapidated new home—except for Vanessa. She had regained her ability to speak without quacking shortly after leaving her Elwood City residence, but had said little since her examination at the hospital. She had changed into something that could walk and talk, and hadn't changed since, and for that she was grateful. Still, one question consumed and obsessed her—_what exactly am I now?_

Stepping into what looked like a bathroom, she stood on her toes and regarded her image in the mirror. Her hair was straight and shiny brown, her eyes jet blue, her nose the elongated snout of a horse. A normal, attractive girl, yes, but with a pointed golden horn protruding from her forehead. She had tugged on it many times, but it seemed securely fasted to her skull. What was its purpose? Why did it glow in the dark? Unicorns weren't real…were they?

By the time she finished contemplating her new form, Mr. and Mrs. Cooper had unloaded their portable TV from the Buick and placed it on a windowsill. The electricity was running, so the kids were granted a means of entertaining themselves while their parents carried in boxes of clothing.

"This is Wolf Blitzen reporting live from rural Minnesota," said the canine-looking newscaster as Dallin, Logan, Odette, Vanessa, and little Megan took seats on the floor to watch. "Standing next to me is a woman who simply calls herself Gadfly, and claims to be the leader of the approximately 4,400 cat women who appeared in this valley earlier today."

Vanessa stared intently at the screen. "I've seen her before," she said out loud. The woman being interviewed by Blitzen wore a cap that resembled a saggy beret and covered whatever hair she might have, but her facial features were unmistakably familiar.

Then it occurred to her. "That's Principal Haney's old girlfriend!"

The woman, dressed in an army green, slightly dingy uniform, gazed with fearless eyes at the camera while speaking. "I am called Gadfly, because, like your philosopher Socrates, I ask stinging questions," she told the viewing audience, "We come from a planet called Yordil, which is governed by a ruthless, dehumanizing dictatorship. We were dissidents, troublemakers, and enemies of the state, and we lived in fear of imprisonment and execution. Our only hope for freedom was to flee through a space portal to another world that would sustain our form of life." Behind her, scores of similarly clad cat women milled about, some eagerly accepting beverages from National Guard officers.

Wolf Blitzen drew the microphone back to his own mouth. "Gadfly, I must inform you that your unexpected arrival here has caused unrest among the local population, and attracted the attention of the state and federal governments."

"Hence the armed military officers," said Gadfly flippantly. "I assure you, our intentions are absolutely peaceful. We would have immigrated to your country through the standard methods, but there's so much water around Ellis Island that we couldn't get a fix on dry land."

"Another question, if you don't mind," said Blitzen. "Obviously you have the knowledge and skill to travel from your planet to ours. Is it possible that the military forces of this so-called dictatorship will follow you here, and engage in hostilities against the United States?"

"I won't lie to you," replied Gadfly unhesitatingly. "Yes, it's possible."

"One more question, for the sake of curiosity," said Blitzen. "I couldn't help but notice that your group is completely made up of women and girls. Why no men at all?"

"That's easy to answer," said Gadfly. "Nearly all the men have been drafted to fight in interplanetary wars. As for the women, they're of no use to the dictatorship but to produce future soldiers. Our society has been thoroughly militarized, for the sole purpose of annexing resource-rich worlds to the Yordilian Star Empire."

Every beak fell open in the Coopers' new house. "Aliens in Minnesota," said Mr. Cooper in an attempt to relieve the astonishment. "I hope they're used to harsh winters."

"I'm glad they're in someone else's backyard," said Mrs. Cooper glibly.

Vanessa found no comfort in their statements. Bewildered by the radical changes in her life and the bizarre story unfolding on the TV news, she decided to seek relaxation and pleasure in the only activity that afforded them—walking.

_I love walking_, she thought as she strolled down the dirty, uneven sidewalk. _I'm so glad I can walk again. All I want to do is walk, and walk, and walk, until all the weirdness in the world is explained. As long as I keep walking, I won't have to worry about what sort of weird unicorn girl freak thing I've become, or why, or what it means, or what kind of life I'll have._

"Don't go far, Vanessa," she heard Mrs. Cooper call after her.

Ignoring her mother's counsel, she walked for three blocks and kept walking. She walked until a shrill, plaintive voice interrupted her deliberations.

"Hello."

Vanessa stopped abruptly. She looked left and right, then up and down, but saw no one nearby but a slender cat with bushy, matted black fur.

"Meow," said the cat. "Hello," Vanessa thought she heard.

_The cat's talking to me_, she realized. _I know that's impossible, but it's happening._

"Don't be afraid," the cat spoke.

_I'm going crazy_, thought Vanessa. _I can't be sure of anything anymore. Maybe I've been a girl all along, and I only dreamed about being a crippled boy. But if I were crazy I wouldn't know it, so I must not be crazy. Then why is it that every time the cat meows, it sounds like words to me?_

"My name's Goodkitty," said the black cat, creeping closer. "Are you a unicorn?"

"Uh, I don't know," replied Vanessa, but the cat only shot her a puzzled look.

_I feel stupid, but here goes_, she thought. "Meow," she said.

"You sure _look_ like a unicorn," said the cat, who by now was rubbing against Vanessa's stocking. "You've got the horn, the flaring nostrils, the gray patch on the forehead…not to mention the fact that you can talk to cats. Like my mama always said, if it looks like a duck, walks like a duck, and quacks like a duck…"

"Don't say that!" exclaimed Vanessa fearfully. To her surprise, her outburst took the form of a series of meows.

"Don't say what?" asked the unruffled cat.

Embarrassment welled up in Vanessa's heart. _She's such a cute kitty. I don't want to say anything to frighten her. Maybe she'll…wait! How did I know she's female?_

_And how does she know what a unicorn looks like?_

She knelt down, and her peach-colored skirt descended around her knees. "Tell me what you know about unicorns," she meowed hopefully.

* * *

to be continued 


	30. Minnesota Bound

Herbert Haney couldn't believe what his eyes were telling him, and wasn't entirely sure of what his heart was telling him. _That's her_, he thought as the face of his one-time love, Zoe Belnap, gazed at him from the TV screen in the teacher's lounge. _Why has she come back? Those alien police officers told me that she and the girls were illegal immigrants from outer space. Could that charge have been fabricated by her planet's dictatorship?_ He dearly hoped so.

Rodentia, seated next to the coffee maker and eating from a container of szechuan pasta, grinned knowingly at the principal. "I'm happy for you, Herb. I never would've suspected that Zoe was off fighting for liberty on another planet. No wonder she didn't return your calls."

Mr. Haney gave her an earnest look. "Call Nigel," he requested. "Tell him I'll need a substitute for next week. I'm going to her."

The rat woman grinned again. "You go, Romeo."

The report of the apparent alien exodus to Earth passed quickly from one student to another, until the entire school was abuzz with the astonishing news. In the cafeteria, the kids in Mrs. Krantz' class and their friends hardly touched their food as they discussed the state of affairs in rural Minnesota.

"If four thousand aliens had suddenly landed in England, no one would have noticed," Beat remarked. "Everyone would have taken it for a Doctor Who convention."

"I don't believe her story about Yordil being a dictatorship," said Buster. "When I was there, all I saw was nice houses and pretty girls. Everybody seemed happy."

"Uh-huh," said Sue Ellen with a hint of disbelief. "I went to Beijing, and that's what I saw. But in China you still have to register your religion with the government, and you can't have more than one baby."

As Prunella listened eagerly to the conversation, she felt an odd compulsion to ask a particular question. "Sue Ellen," she addressed the cat girl, "you should go to Minnesota and meet with the Yordilian refugees. They're your people, after all. You can learn about their culture and values without having to leave Earth."

Sue Ellen shook her head. "I've learned everything I want to know about their culture and values."

Alan opened his mouth to talk, but Prunella interrupted, determined to press the issue for a reason she couldn't explain. "Even if you can't learn anything from them, they can learn plenty about Earth life from _you_. You could be a diplomat, like your dad."

Her words mildly stunned the other kids, who wondered whether the rat girl had forgotten that Mr. Armstrong was, in actuality, a Yordilian agent.

"That was a joke," said Prunella. A few of her friends chuckled.

"First I want to know why they're _really_ here," said Sue Ellen suspiciously.

"What difference does it make?" said Prunella, gesticulating. "They can't invade, because they didn't bring any weapons with them."

"They don't need weapons," Sue Ellen insisted. "They _are_ weapons. April and I fought Amy Belnap two-on-one, and she kicked both our butts."

_I must convince her_, thought Prunella. _But how? And why is this suddenly so important to me?_

When lunch was over, the kids returned to their desks in Mrs. Krantz' classroom, but even then they talked about the alien visitors incessantly. The moose woman, seeing she needed to take drastic steps to recapture their imagination, announced loudly, "I'm sorry to inform you that I'm resigning as your teacher, and Miss Ratburn will be taking my place."

The students turned as one to face her and screamed, "NOOOOOO!"

"Now that I have your undivided attention," said Mrs. Krantz as the terrified shrieks died down, "let's get on with today's lesson. Who can tell me how river deltas are formed?"

Just as Beat was raising her hand, the voice of the principal sounded over the public address speakers. "Attention, all students," he said solemnly. "As I will be away on travel during the coming week, Nigel Ratburn will temporarily assume my position as Lakewood principal."

"NOOOOOO!" the kids screamed again.

"Please give him your full support," Mr. Haney went on, "and heed his words as you heed mine. Haney out."

_He must be going to Minnesota_, Sue Ellen thought. _Why not tag along? It should be fun and informative. Maybe I'll even see a moose._

"Once again," said the moose standing directly in front of her, "who knows how river deltas are formed?" Sue Ellen swiftly raised her hand. "Yes, dear?"

_I've talked to you about calling me 'dear' in front of my classmates_, thought Sue Ellen bitterly. "Uh, Mom," she said, eliciting giggles from the other girls, "I'd like permission to go to Minnesota with Mr. Haney so I can meet the Yordilians."

"Of course you can go, dear," said Mrs. Krantz.

The other kids muttered to each other as they watched Sue Ellen's lips spread into a glowing smile. Francine's hand shot up. "I want to go too, Mom," she said jokingly.

"Now, now," the teacher scolded her gently. "Muffy, George, and Van are still unaccounted for. If the rest of you go on trips, I'm afraid my class may disappear completely."

No sooner had the period ended, when Sue Ellen hurried through the center court to find Principal Haney behind his desk, wistfully sucking on a lollipop. "Mr. Haney, sir," she said meekly, "I want to go with you to Minnesota so I can meet the aliens. I have permission to go from Mrs. Krantz…er, my mom."

Before Mr. Haney had a chance to pull out the lollipop and speak, Prunella bounded into the office, landing with a click of her heels at Sue Ellen's left side. "I want to go with you as well," she said without a moment's pause.

Bemused, the principal looked back and forth between the two girls. "Er…ah…" he stammered.

Sue Ellen glared in surprise at her friend. "_You_ want to go too? Why?"

Prunella shrugged. "I don't need a reason. I'm spontaneous."

"This isn't a field trip, ladies," said Mr. Haney sternly. "I'm going to Minnesota for very _personal_ reasons."

"Well, so am I," Sue Ellen stated. "My real parents are from Yordil."

"And so am I," claimed Prunella. "My horoscope said I'd find success, health, and true love by going on a long trip."

The principal stared and wondered. _I could use the company_, he thought, _but I've never taken such a long road trip with kids before. This is most definitely a three-lollipop problem._

* * *

To be continued! Please review! 


	31. Fern's Labour's Lost

As the class let out for afternoon recess, Binky and Buster left the room together. "It's time," Binky muttered to his friend.

"Are you sure you want to go through with this?" asked Buster quietly.

"Yeah," replied Binky. "You having second thoughts?"

"Nope," said Buster. "I just wanted to make sure _you're_ not."

They encountered Alan, who was chatting idly with his sixth-grade classmates. "Hey, guys," the bear boy greeted them.

"Hi, Alan," said Buster. "Look, I know your mom doesn't want you talking to me, and I know you're sore because we got Petula and you didn't…"

"No, I'm not sore," Alan contradicted him. "In fact, I feel sorry for you."

Buster sighed in amazement. "Gosh, you're even sorer than I thought."

"I am _not_ sore," said Alan, glaring impatiently at the rabbit boy.

"Yeah, whatever," said Buster obliviously. "Anyway, I wanted to warn you—watch out for Fern. I'm afraid she may come after you on the rebound."

"I'll watch out for her," said Alan, eager to end the conversation.

"Good," said Buster, and he departed with Binky at his side.

"What was that about?" Prunella asked Alan.

"Darned if I know," was the boy's response. "Maybe Fern wants to show me up at basketball."

At an appointed time, Fern and Molly ran into each other behind the gymnasium. The girls, each obviously not having expected to see the other, fidgeted and tried to make small talk.

"So," said Fern, "how's life?"

"My dad's still looking for a job," said Molly, a hint of pain in her hazel eyes. "My mom just applied for welfare. My little brother James bit the head off a live turtle. Same old, same old. And you?"

"I, uh, wrote a Shakespearean sonnet yesterday," said Fern, looking down at her shoes.

"That's the worst thing that happened to you?" Molly reflected. "Geez, I'd kill for your life."

A brief moment passed before Binky and Buster rounded the corner and hailed their girlfriends. "Hello, girls," they said in unison.

"Hello, boys," Fern and Molly responded in turn.

"You said you had a surprise for me," said Fern to Buster.

"And you said you had a surprise for _me_," Molly addressed Binky.

The two boys didn't answer, but only grimaced seriously and held their hands behind their backs.

"What a coincidence that you asked us to meet at the same time and same place," Fern remarked. "Is that the surprise, or is it something else?"

Buster cleared his throat. "We, uh, have something to tell you—something that may break your hearts, or possibly even kill you." Binky promptly elbowed his ribs.

"What is it?" asked Molly with concern.

Binky, fearing that Buster would embarrass him again, went straight to the point. "We've decided that at this stage in our lives, our time is better spent studying and learning than hanging out with girls. Therefore, we've chosen to swear off having girlfriends, and devote our time to studying, for a period of three years."

Fern smiled approvingly. "That's so noble, Binky. You're following in the footsteps of Ferdinand, the King of Navarre, and his three friends, Berowne, Longaville, and Dumaine, in Shakespeare's play _Love's Labour's Lost_."

"What's what's what now?" said Binky, confused.

Molly glowered at the poodle girl. "You doofus!" she exclaimed. "Don't you see? They're swearing off _us!_"

Fern's jaw fell, as did her heart. _Buster's dumping me_, she realized. _Even worse, he's doing it through a surrogate._

Having nothing more to say, Binky and Buster walked off with self-satisfied grins on their faces. Fern and Molly stood motionlessly, stunned and downcast.

"I was under Tegan's influence when I got together with him," Fern recalled sadly. "When I became myself again, I stayed with him because I didn't want to hurt him. Now that we've split up, I…I can't help but feel that I really _do_ love him."

"I don't know whether to cry, scream, or find a nerd to beat up," said Molly sullenly.

"I do," said Fern, and she burst into tears.

After several seconds of pushing down her emotions, Molly narrowed her eyes. The truth had become clear to her. "I know why they did it," she told Fern.

"Wh-why?" said the poodle girl, sniffling.

"You're pretty slow for someone who's read Shakespeare," said Molly. "Think about it. They asked us to come here…_together_. They showed up…_together_. They dumped us…_together_. Then they walked away…_together_. What's with all the togetherness? I'll tell you what's with it. There's something going on between those two. Do you catch my drift?"

"N-no," said Fern, sobbing.

"Then I'll spell it out for you," said Molly patronizingly. "G-E-A-Y. They're _gay_."

* * *

to be continued 


	32. The Embassy

After a long and tiring train voyage, Jenny and the Nordgrens found themselves at the gate of a modest-sized metallic building architected out of curvilinear forms. The grounds were filled with Earth vegetation and flowers, and a large engraving on the building's front wall read, in English, French, German, and Russian, EARTH EMBASSY OF ORELOB.

"The building's design was inspired by Frank Gehry's works," Jenny told the moose family.

"Really," marveled Mrs. Nordgren as she followed the Kressidan guide through the swinging metal gates. "I wonder if he knows aliens have been watching him."

"If I told you how extensively the Alliance surveys affairs on Earth," Jenny cautioned her, "you wouldn't sleep for a month. It's more than tripled since the Dark Augusta disaster."

George and Sal paused to sniff some roses while their parents conversed with Jenny. "Just how much damage did Dark Augusta cause?" asked Mr. Nordgren curiously.

The alien girl's tone became dark. "She wiped out a total of seventy-six planets, forty-nine of which were Alliance members. That's not even a tenth of the Alliance, but some of those worlds had major commercial or strategic significance. It'll take years for the interglobal economy to recover. It's estimated that more than half of the Alliance population lost family members or loved ones." Her yellow eyes welled up with emotion. "I lost my brother."

"I'm so sorry," said Mrs. Nordgren sympathetically.

"He was vacationing on the resort planet Chakoni," Jenny recalled. "Dark Augusta transformed the planet's atmosphere into mustard gas. Every living thing suffocated."

They passed through a sliding door into a reception area whose walls were adorned by paintings of various types—some modern and abstract, some depicting landscapes or romantic scenes, even a few Baroque and Renaissance prints. To their utter surprise, a smiling human (or rather, humanoid aardvark) female welcomed them at the main desk. "Welcome to the Earth embassy," said the blond-haired girl. "How may I assist you?"

Mr. Nordgren was about to speak, but Jenny motioned for him to wait. "This is the Elwood—that is, Nordgren—family. They were brought here from Earth by the Provision Theta administration, under what they suspect to be false pretenses. They would like passage back to Earth as quickly as possible."

"Passage to Earth?" The receptionist, whose badge displayed the name Simone, sighed with discouragement. "I'm afraid that's impossible at the moment."

"Impossible?" said Mrs. Nordgren in outrage. "What do you mean?"

"If you've been watching the news," said Simone, "you're aware that the Alliance Grand Council has banned all communication and transportation to and from Earth until the Holcombe murder investigation is complete."

All the Nordgrens gasped in shock. "But I really, really need to pee," Sal complained.

"Down the hall, to the left," Simone instructed her.

"How long will the investigation take?" Mr. Nordgren demanded to know. "We can't stay on this planet forever. We don't belong here."

"Please be patient, sir," said the receptionist. "We at the embassy are as dismayed about this as you are, but all we can do is wait."

The Nordgren parents turned to Jenny, as if hoping for her to pull a solution out of one of her orifices. The Kressidan girl shrugged. "If that's the Council's decision, then my hands are tied," she stated.

"Fine," said Mr. Nordgren grudgingly. "We can stick it out a few more days if we have to. Now, could you guide us to a decent restaurant and a hotel?"

"Excuse me, sir," Simone interrupted the exchange. "Before you leave, I must insist on seeing your identification documents."

The moose man muttered curse words to himself as he and his wife emptied their pockets. To the receptionist they presented two cards, which featured their photographs and the assumed name Elwood. "Thank you," said Simone, who then flipped open a device that resembled a very slim cell phone.

* * *

On a space station many worlds away, the Thrag lieutenant T'l'p'g'r stepped into the holding cell which Hank and Daisy Armstrong called home, and which April Murphy called a desolate hellhole. All three were present, playing a game of gin rummy that was civil, if not exactly friendly.

"I have news," said the sphere-headed officer. "The Nordgren family has reached the Earth embassy."

The Armstrongs nodded with satisfaction. "You can ensure that they don't leave, I trust," said Hank calmly.

"I have matters well in hand," stated T'l'p'g'r.

April leaped to her feet, red-faced with indignation. "You leave George and his family alone!" she shouted.

"That is precisely what I intend to do," said the Thrag, who then turned and left the cell.

* * *

to be continued 


	33. Still at the Embassy

Simone typed the numbers from the Nordgrens' identification cards into a console, waited a few seconds, then made a grim face. "I'm afraid these documents are invalid," she told the moose family.

"Invalid?" Mr. Nordgren blurted out angrily. "What the…"

"There has to be a mistake," said Jenny earnestly. "I was assigned to the Nordgrens by the PT administration, and I've been with them since their first moment on Orelob."

"Nonetheless, these ID cards are worthless," said Simone with detachment. "I'm required by law to confiscate them."

"But we need those cards!" Mrs. Nordgren protested. "We can't go anywhere without them!"

"That's not entirely accurate," said Simone, a hint of annoyance in her voice. "You can go anywhere on the embassy grounds. You can arrange for passage to another Alliance planet. But you can't go back to Earth, and if you leave the embassy I'm required to report you to the police. It's sick, but that's the way it is."

"What are you saying?" Mr. Nordgren's pitch rose with his temper. "We can't return to Earth, and we can't leave the building?"

Jenny stepped forward, and anxiety filled her voice. "Call the Provision Theta head office," she urged Simone. "They'll clear up this misunderstanding."

"I certainly hope so," said the receptionist, reaching for her phone. "This is an embassy, not a hotel."

Tense seconds passed. While their parents fumed, George and Sal aimlessly explored the lobby. Among the attractions were several potted Earth palm trees. "This place is cool," Sal remarked. "It's like Florida, only indoors. I wish I could live in this house."

"We may have to," said George, glancing over his shoulder at the busy receptionist.

Simone lowered her communication device, and her wry frown indicated bad news. "The Provision Theta head office claims to have no involvement with Carl and Lena Nordgren from the planet Earth," she reported.

Both Mr. and Mrs. Nordgren felt that their spleens would burst from anger—but to their surprise, Jenny was even more incensed. "That's impossible!" she nearly shrieked. "I received my assignment from the administrator herself!"

"I just _talked_ to the administrator," said Simone, tossing her cell phone in the alien girl's direction. "Would you like to take a whack?"

"Thank you, I will." With an unearthly grumble, Jenny dialed the number of the head office with her slim fingers.

"This is Provision Theta head administrator Glieph Lekbog," came a harsh voice.

"Glieph, this is Agent Ablikablukapelifrotz," said Jenny. "Tell the embassy receptionist who I am."

"I'm sorry," said Glieph innocently. "I don't know that name. Are you sure you pronounced it correctly?"

Enraged, Jenny slammed the phone closed and squeezed it almost to the point of shattering it. "How can she not acknowledge me?" she ranted. "I'd expect the Black Veil to pull this sort of trick, but not the PT."

The alien girl's consternation elicited feelings of concern in Mrs. Nordgren. "Is there anything we can do to help?" she inquired.

Still bitter, Jenny scowled at the moose woman. "You can stay put. I'll fix this, if I have to go all the way to the Grand Council."

The Kressidan girl marched through the sliding embassy doors, leaving the Nordgrens in confusion regarding their fate. "If you're hungry, we have a wide variety of Earth foods at our cafeteria," Simone told them.

* * *

Fern and Buster sat on opposite ends of the classroom for the rest of the school day. Buster dared not approach the heartbroken poodle girl; for that matter, he tried to avoid the other girls as well, for fear one of them might take advantage of his newfound availability. _I swear, Beat has a thing for me_, he often told himself.

He and Binky left the elementary school together, eager to spend the evening engrossed in their new hobby, studying. "I want to start by memorizing all the presidents," said Buster.

"Man, that is _so_ third grade," said Binky. "I want to write a report on chemical weapons, just for the heck of it."

As they passed through the throng of students at the bottom of the stairway, they noticed that a few were giving them odd looks. "What do you suppose that's about?" said Buster.

"It's a good thing I've devoted the next three years to learning," said Binky, "or I'd clobber them."

Behind their backs, Arthur and Francine were debating the rumors they had heard. "They sure don't _look_ gay," Arthur remarked. "They're not holding hands or anything."

"Yeah," said Francine, "but Buster's been going to Binky's place after school every day for the past three days, and I think that's where he's going now."

"We can't judge them yet," said Arthur. "Buster _might_ just be going to the Sugar Bowl."

At the Prufrock house, Principal Haney was discussing with Prunella's parents his plans to drive their daughter and Sue Ellen to Minnesota and back. "You've given us no reason not to trust you, principal," said Mr. Prufrock.

"I consulted the spirits," added Mrs. Prufrock, "and they told me nothing, which is a positive sign about half of the time."

"Thank you both," said Mr. Haney as he rose. "I'll do my best to bring Prunella back in one piece."

A moment later the rat girl descended the stairway, hunched over due to the weight of her backpack. "I can't go anywhere without some salty snacks, a few changes of clothes, and some light reading," she told the principal.

"Well, it's not getting any earlier," said Mr. Haney to Prunella and Sue Ellen, whose countenances glowed with the anticipation of an exciting trip. "So let's make like a French aristocrat and head off."

"I don't get it," said Sue Ellen.

Very soon afterward, Mr. Haney drove away from Elwood City with Prunella strapped into the passenger seat, and Sue Ellen having agreed to take the first backseat shift. The first few miles passed in relative quiet—then the principal inserted a CD into the player.

"I hope you girls like The Carpenters," he said with glee.

Sue Ellen and Prunella groaned as Karen Carpenter's silky voice filled the '57 Chevy. "Are we there yet?" they asked in unison.

"No, sirree," replied Mr. Haney. "We've only just begun."

As they were passing the fifty-mile mark, a phone call came to the Powers home. Alan jumped up to answer it, but his mother was quicker. "If that's Buster, you're not talking to him," she said firmly.

"Stupid grudge," moaned Alan as he sat down again.

"What was that?" snapped his mother.

"Uh, I said, 'You be the judge'," Alan lied.

"Hello?" said Mrs. Powers into the receiver.

It wasn't Buster. "This is Officer Jones of the Elwood City Police Department," said a woman's voice. "I have some very troubling news that may be of concern to you."

"Troubling?" said Mrs. Powers, her voice quivering. "Is it about Tegan?"

"No, ma'am," replied Officer Jones. "It's about your friend Augusta Winslow. She's been murdered."

* * *

to be continued. 


	34. Hands Off Earth, Man

Maria Harris and her first-grade daughter, Nadine, watched tearfully as the news report unfolded on the TV screen.

"Witnesses at Lorraine's Diner in Salem claim that Miss Winslow was having coffee with a short, Caucasian cat woman with blond hair, one green eye, and one blue eye. They say that shortly after the cat woman left, Miss Winslow complained of dizziness and nausea, staggered out of the diner, and collapsed on the sidewalk. She was pronounced dead at Salem Hospital; traces of strychnine and sodium pentothal were found in her bloodstream. Augusta Winslow was wanted by the police for one count of child abandonment, and was a suspect in the disappearance of an Elwood City boy, Van Cooper."

Nadine sniffled miserably. "Mommy," she asked, "is Auntie Augusta in heaven now?"

"Yes, honey, she is," replied Mrs. Harris, wiping her cheeks with a tissue.

"Is she still a woman," the little squirrel girl inquired, "or is she a man now?"

"You're thinking of hell, dear," said Maria.

The shock of Augusta's demise prompted many of her young acquaintances to gather at Francine's apartment. Arthur, Fern, Beat, and Alan arrived at roughly the same time; soon afterward Buster and Binky strolled into the small apartment together.

"Look at that," Francine whispered to Arthur. "They're together _again_."

"We could just _ask_ them if they're gay," Arthur suggested quietly.

"That's normally Van's job," said Francine, recalling the duck boy's habit of disproving rumors by confronting the affected party directly. "If only he…I mean, _she_ were still here."

The kids fell silent as Alan began to speak. "Why anyone would want to do in Augusta, I can't imagine," he said wistfully. "She nearly destroyed the world three times, but other than that, she never wished harm on any living soul."

"We can't be sure she's gone," said Arthur. "Maybe she has another time-travel duplicate out there somewhere."

"Bollocks to that," Beat muttered.

"The course of action is obvious," said Francine. "Fern, Buster, put on your detective hats and try to figure out whodunit, and why."

Fern looked away from Buster and stuck her nose in the air. Buster, for his part, looked away from Fern and whistled nonchalantly.

"Well?" Francine pressed them. "Have you got a suspect yet?"

"Hush up, Frankie," said Beat sarcastically. "Can't you see they're thinking?"

Sue Ellen and Prunella, in the meantime, knew nothing of Augusta's death. As Principal Haney's Chevrolet carried them through the corn fields of Iowa, they carelessly sang, "Infinity bottles of milk on the wall, infinity bottles of milk, take one down, pass it around, infinity bottles of milk on the wall…"

"Girls, girls!" Mr. Haney complained. "You'll never reach the end of the song like that."

"That's the whole point," said Sue Ellen.

"We also know a song about a hole in the bottom of the sea," added Prunella.

* * *

Simone was filing. When a document arrived on her desk, she filed it. When there were no documents, she filed her nails. 

_This job gets boring sometimes_, she mused. _But it's a lot better than being a telemarketer in San Francisco._

Suddenly a four-armed male humanoid burst through the embassy doors, waving in each hand a firearm with a long barrel. "Put up your hands!" he barked. "All two of them!"

_Bored feeling's gone_, thought Simone as she reached for the sky.

Two more similarly dressed, similarly armed humanoids charged into the lobby behind the first. One of them fired several loud volleys into the ceiling. The other approached Simone and felt around her hips in search of concealed weapons.

The first humanoid glared menacingly at the helpless receptionist. "We're looking for the Nordgrens, man," he snarled as a trio of two-headed women with machine guns marched into the building. "Lead us to them, or, you know, we'll kill you."

"All right," said Simone, fighting to contain her fear. "Follow me, and please, don't hurt anybody."

At that moment George, Sal, and their parents were idling away the time at a cafeteria table. "What are we gonna do now, Mom?" grumbled Sal as she poked at a bowl of Jell-O with her spoon.

"Hmm," said Mrs. Nordgren thoughtfully, and then an idea came to her. "Anyone for improv comedy?"

"Yeah!" said George excitedly. "Dad, give me the name of a comic book, and I'll act it out."

As Mr. Nordgren opened his mouth to say "_The Powerpuff Girls,_" three of the four-armed and heavily-armed aliens bounded into the cafeteria and pointed their weapons at the family. "Don't move!" one of them ordered.

Struck with terror, every moose person in the room became solid as a stone. Sal could feel her underpants getting wet.

"Cool your jets, man," said another humanoid to the first. "These cats are from Earth."

The three aliens lowered their firearms and made sheepish faces. "Sorry, man," said the foremost. "You can, like, move all you want. It's cool."

"Who…who _are_ you people?" said Mrs. Nordgren, her tone anxious.

To their surprise, Jenny stepped through the cafeteria entrance and stood alongside the three intruders. "These people are members of the local Black Veil cell," she told the Nordgrens. "When I told them that one of the witnesses to Heath Holcombe's murder was being held captive with his family at the Earth embassy, they leaped into action without so much as combing their hair."

"Hands off Earth, man," said one of the humanoids, waving his fist in the air. "Leave the uncarved block uncarved."

"Remember Homilio IV!" shouted another humanoid.

"What happened at Homilio IV?" asked Mr. Nordgren curiously.

"Homilio IV was a planet of dog people governed by a plutocracy," Jenny related. "The Alliance introduced the concept of a free market, and from then on it was dog eat dog. At the end there was only one dog left, and it was trying to eat its own tail."

"Let's go, you groovy Earth cats," said one of the aliens, gesturing for the Nordgrens to follow. "You're goin' home, baby, home."

With the help of the Black Veil guerrillas, Jenny had the portal to Earth reactivated within minutes. George, Sal, their mother, and their father lined up to pass through and return to the planet they knew, but not before bidding farewell to Jenny, the alien who had been so helpful.

"We'll never forget you," said Mrs. Nordgren tenderly. "Thanks for everything you've done."

"If you ever visit Earth, look us up," Mr. Nordgren added.

Jenny grinned with bemusement. "What's with the goodbyes? Haven't you guessed yet that I'm coming with you?"

"Coming…_with_…us?" Mrs. Nordgren stammered in disbelief.

"From the looks of things, I no longer have a PT job," said Jenny. "And after the stunt I pulled to get you home, I may even face prison time. On top of that, I've always wanted to experience Earth life firsthand."

"Of course you're welcome to come to Earth with us," said Mr. Nordgren in a friendly tone.

"Yeah," said George. "You'd be great for show-and-tell."

"Uh, how close to Elwood City will the portal take us?" Mrs. Nordgren wanted to know.

"As close as you need," was Jenny's reply.

Without further discussion, the Nordgrens and Jenny stepped into the shimmering gateway. Their antlers tingled for a short moment, and then their feet landed on solid ground…

…in the middle of Francine's living room.

Francine, Arthur, Buster, Fern, Beat, Alan, and Binky gaped at the moose family and the artichoke-headed alien who had abruptly materialized before them. The Nordgrens gaped back.

Jenny shrugged. "When I was setting the coordinates, I thought, why not jump you forward in the story as well?"

"That was very thoughtful," said Mrs. Nordgren.

Fern cheered with delight. "George is back! George is back!"

"We were worried about you, man," said Binky, slapping the moose boy's shoulder forcefully.

Buster regarded Jenny with amazement. "You're the weirdest alien I've ever seen," he remarked.

"Give me a trophy," said Jenny peevishly.

"What's going on, guys?" George asked his friends. "Why are you all having a big meeting?"

"Augusta's dead," Arthur informed him. "Somebody poisoned her."

George's eyes nearly burst out of his face. "Augusta? _Dead?_"

"Any idea who killed her?" said Jenny in a cool, rational trio of voices.

"All we know is," Beat told the alien girl, "she was drinking coffee with a blond cat woman when she staggered outside and collapsed, and the coroner found strychnine and sodium pentothal in her bloodstream."

"Sodium pentothal?" said George with interest. "That's truth serum."

"Yes, I know," said Beat. "The cat woman must have wanted some information from Augusta. The question is, _what_ information, and why was it important enough to kill for?"

"Excuse me," Francine interjected. "I hate to interrupt your murder investigation, but I have to ask George a question. Do you happen to know where Muffy is?"

George lowered his face in shame. "I forgot all about Muffy," he admitted. "She's still on the planet Orelob. She says she wants to live there, and so do her parents."

"Back to the matter at hand," said Jenny, unintentionally amusing the kids with her triplicate voice. "You may not be aware of this, but the Alliance is full of people who want nothing more than to see Augusta Winslow dead. She's about a million times less popular than your Osama bin Laden. Whether she ever hurt anyone in her life is irrelevant, because a woman identical to her in every way destroyed seventy-six planets."

"Are you suggesting an _alien_ murdered her?" said Fern in wonder.

"Omigosh!" cried Alan, slapping his cheek in dismay. "The Yordilian refugees! Why didn't I think of that before?"

"_What_ Yordilian refugees?" George blurted out.

"Oh, I'm sorry, George," said Beat gently. "You weren't here when four thousand cat women from Yordil beamed down to Minnesota."

George could only place his hands over his temples and moan in horror. "Ooooh…ooooh…"

"You got a toothache?" said Binky.

The moose boy shook his head to regain his composure. "It's worse than I suspected," he said with alarm. "Heath Holcombe _was_ working for the Yordilians. The Alliance _did_ vote to cut off contact with Earth. _And now the Yordilians are here!_"

"Don't hyperventilate, son," his father warned.

"There are only four thousand of them, George," Alan pointed out. "That's not enough to conquer the world. England, maybe."

"Hey!" Beat protested sharply.

"Maybe their goal isn't conquest," Jenny theorized. "Maybe they only want to eliminate anyone who has the potential to become another Dark Augusta."

The kids paused for a moment, letting Jenny's idea sink into their minds.

Then Alan and Buster turned to each other with expressions of pure terror.

"PETULA!" they cried.

The entire group of kids spontaneously ran to Buster's condominium, the soles of their shoes barely touching the pavement. Jenny ran with them, making long, rubbery strides and attracting much attention from passers-by. They fount Bitzi half-asleep on the couch, with her new baby squirming in a bassinet on the floor.

"Mom! Wake up!" shouted Buster.

"Huh?" mumbled the bespectacled rabbit woman. "Uh, the Jolly Ranchers are in the second drawer from the right."

"Petula's in danger," said Buster frantically. "I'm almost two hundred percent sure that the aliens from Yordil want to kill her!"

"Wh-who wants to…" said Bitzi as she sat up groggily. Her protective instincts kicking in, she grabbed the handle of Petula's bassinet and stood up. Then her unfocused eyes made out the image of Jenny's artichoke head and pointed ears, and she screamed.

"Calm down, Mom," urged Buster.

"Don't touch my baby!" shrieked the terrified woman.

"Mom, relax," said Buster in a calming tone. "Jenny's a friend. She's not the alien who wants to kill Petula."

"That's right," said a stern female voice from the doorway. "_I_ am."

Buster, Arthur, Francine, Fern, Binky, George, and Beat whirled. In front of them stood a muscular cat woman with unruly brown hair, clad in a business dress that didn't fit her. In her right hand she clutched a revolver.

* * *

to be continued 


	35. Motherly Love

"I'm here to finish the job my sister started," said the menacing cat woman. "Petula Winslow must die. If you resist, you'll die with her."

At the sight of the intruder's gun, Bitzi nearly fainted with terror. The kids gasped and trembled, fearing for their lives and knowing of no way to escape, or to protect the innocent baby. Jenny, for her part, wisely stepped back and put up her hands.

The shaggy-haired woman stepped forward, training her revolver on the bassinet in which Petula lay asleep. "Step away from her, all of you," she warned them. "You don't want to die for nothing."

"Don't hurt my baby, please!" begged Bitzi. Driven by panic, the kids jumped to one side or the other, leaving a clear path for the woman to execute her murderous intentions…

…except for Alan.

Placing himself between Bitzi and the armed stranger, he said bravely, "You don't have the guts to kill a defenseless baby."

"I have the guts to kill _you,_" said the cat woman, aiming her gun at the midpoint between the boy's eyes.

"Alan, don't!" squealed Fern.

"Let me put that differently," said Alan as his heart pounded and shook. "You don't have the guts to kill a defenseless baby _with your bare hands_."

The armed woman hesitated momentarily.

"It's nice and neat if you use a gun," said Alan boldly. "The blood splatters everywhere, except on your hands and clothing. You can even wear the same outfit tomorrow, without washing it. But it's an entirely different matter when you have to use your hands and get them dirty."

"I'm perfectly capable of killing with my hands," the cat woman assured him. "If you don't move aside, I'll demonstrate my skill by snapping your neck."

Alan stepped backwards until he was at Bitzi's side. "Snapping the neck of a smart-mouth kid is easy," he said to his mortal enemy. Then, reaching up into the bassinet, he grasped Petula's waist and started to lift her out.

"What are you…" said Bitzi, but she was too weak from fright to stop him.

Alan swung the baby girl until she was in the cat woman's line of fire. "Snapping the neck of an infant is much harder. I don't think you have it in you."

"Are you _crazy?_" Binky yelled at him.

The armed woman grinned with pride. "Very well," she said in a sly voice. "I'll snap Petula's neck—then I'll kill _you_ with my gun."

"No, no!" cried Francine, covering her eyes with her hands.

Sweat poured down Alan's face as he watched the cat woman put out her hand. Her man-like fingers wrapped around the back of Petula's neck, and her thumb pressed against the baby's throat. Bitzi could only stand and weep, while the kids held their breaths and waited for the inevitable snap.

It didn't come.

As she felt the warmth of Petula's skin against her own, an overpowering feeling of affection filled her merciless heart. Tears of love formed in her eyes and coursed down her cheeks. Instead of murdering the infant, she tenderly placed her hands around its back and drew it to her breast. She moaned with pleasure as she cradled and caressed the child.

"What…the…_freak?_" was all George could utter.

Alan sprang forward, seizing the revolver from the cat woman's limp hand. She seemed to barely notice, so consumed was she by love for the baby in her arms.

"How did you _do_ that?" said Beat in reverent awe.

Alan passed the revolver into Bitzi's trembling hands. "You know how to use this better than I do," he said respectfully. The rabbit woman, beginning to realize that the danger to her baby had passed, clenched her lips and pointed the barrel of the firearm at the intruder.

"Give me my baby, you slime," she growled.

The cat woman recoiled at the sight of her own weapon being used against her. "No, please!" she begged. "Just let me hold her a little longer."

"Give me my baby NOW!" Bitzi bellowed.

"No, wait!" said Alan, grabbing the furious woman's gun arm. "It's okay if she holds Petula for another minute—_if_ she's willing to answer some questions."

"Yes, anything!" said the cat woman desperately. "I know I'm violating orders…I know I could be executed for treason…but…but I just love her so much…"

"What's the _real_ purpose of the Yordilian exodus to Earth?" Alan demanded to know.

Panic and indecision registered in the cat woman's expression. "I…I…" she stammered.

"Shoot her," Alan told Bitzi. For a moment it appeared that the fiery-eyed rabbit woman would do so.

"All right, I'll tell you!" said the cat woman with resignation. "We were sent as a vanguard for a large-scale invasion, to destabilize Earth society and weaken its defenses."

"Why do you want to take over Earth?" Alan asked her.

"Because we need your men," replied the woman as she fondled Petula's mostly bald scalp. "Nearly all the men on our planet were destroyed by a biological disaster. We don't want to take your men away from you—we just want to _share_ them."

"Share our men?" said Beat indignantly. "I'll be buggered if you do. I'm a human being, not a Mormon."

"What does killing Petula have to do with all this?" was Alan's next question.

"That was part of the deal we made with the Alliance to get them to look the other way," the cat woman answered. "To prevent the appearance of a new Dark Augusta, we were instructed to eliminate the duplicate Augusta. We didn't find out she had a daughter until we received Heath Holcombe's report. After that, it was a simple matter of slipping truth serum into Augusta's coffee so she would reveal her baby's location."

"Murderer!" shouted Arthur.

"You're a monster," Bitzi spat at the woman. "I should kill you now."

"I deserve death," said the cat woman miserably. "I betrayed my sisters. I fell prey to this baby's enchantments. Please, do me a favor and shoot me while I still want to die."

"This country has a system of justice that decides whether you should live or die," said Beat as she dialed the police on her cell phone. "It's not as perfect as the English system, but it serves."

While Bitzi forcibly took her baby away from the sobbing cat woman, the kids mobbed Alan and congratulated him for his cleverness in thwarting the murderous cat woman.

"If only we had four thousand Petulas," said Buster. "Then the invasion would be over before it started."

* * *

Next chapter: The cliffhanger to end all cliffhangers!


	36. Showdown

The police soon came to arrest the cat woman and take her to the station, but Buster's family now had a serious matter to contend with. "More will come in her place," Jenny warned them. "I suspect that every one of the cat women who landed in Minnesota is a trained killer. You're not safe here. You must take Petula and go into hiding."

"For how long?" asked Buster's stepfather, Harry Mills.

Jenny shook her head sadly. "I can't say. There's no way to know how many Yordilian agents have slipped into Earth society unnoticed. Petula may be a target for the rest of her life."

"I'll defend her with my life for as long as I have to," said Bitzi, gripping the baby rabbit girl tightly.

"So will I," said Harry, a bit less resolutely.

"I wish I could go with you," said Jenny to Buster's family, "but I'd only attract unwanted attention—not only because of my appearance, but also because I'm an undocumented alien. I must attend to the urgent task of naturalizing myself."

"I'll start packing my bags," moaned Buster as he trudged off to his bedroom.

With the danger to Petula past for the moment, the kids began to file off to their homes. Arthur remained with Francine, both to talk about the situation and to gawk at the strange-looking alien in their midst.

"I guess we'll never find out now whether Buster and Binky are gay," Arthur remarked.

"I can't believe what's happening," said Francine dolefully. "First Van's family fled the city, then Muffy's family decided to live on another planet, and now Buster's leaving us. We're running out of friends, Arthur."

"We still have each other," said Arthur helpfully.

"No, I'm serious," said Francine.

As they conversed, George's sister Sal and his parents came to call. "We've talked about it among ourselves," said Mr. Nordgren to Jenny, "and you're welcome to stay at our house for the time being."

"You're very generous," said Jenny.

"Of course, you'll be sharing Sal's room," Mrs. Nordgren told her.

"Hooray!" cheered Sal as she made ready for a handspring. "I get an alien for a roommate!"

"I should warn you that I have a snoring problem," Jenny advised the moose girl.

"Do you have any special dietary needs?" Mrs. Nordgren asked Jenny.

"Yes," replied the Kressidan girl. "Food, and lots of it."

Alan returned home to a suspicious-looking mother. "You haven't been at Buster's, have you?" she demanded to know.

"Take it easy, Mom," said Alan with affected nonchalance. "Buster and his family won't trouble us anymore. They're fleeing for their lives."

Mrs. Powers could only gape at the news.

"You dodged a bullet by losing Petula," said Alan as he sauntered toward his room. "We should count ourselves lucky."

* * *

At Prunella's house, Mrs. Prufrock was polishing her crystal ball when her husband called out urgently. "Dru, come here, quickly!" 

She dropped the cloth and hurried to the room she and Mr. Prufrock shared. "What's going on, dear?" she inquired.

Her husband stepped back from rummaging through the upper shelf in the closet. With a worried expression he reported, "My gun is missing."

* * *

Hours later, Mr. Haney began the descent into the pine-filled valley where FEMA had jury-rigged a tent city to house the thousands of Yordilian emigrants. "It won't be long now," the principal remarked. "I hope Zoe still feels for me, even after her long struggle for freedom." 

"I hope they have enough food to go around," said Sue Ellen from the back seat. "Because I'm hungry."

Prunella didn't speak, but simply stared at the backpack lying on the floor at her feet. _I don't know what's wrong with me_, she thought. _When the voice talks to me, I have to do what it says. It's like somebody stole my soul._

She turned her pointed rat nose toward Mr. Haney. "Turn right at the stop sign," she said flatly.

"That would take us back into the hills," said the principal. "The Yordilian encampment is _ahead_ of us."

The intersection and the stop sign loomed nearer. Driven by a terrifying compulsion, Prunella reached down, unzipped her backpack, and pulled out a black case. Mr. Haney watched curiously through the corner of his eye while the girl flipped open the case, wrapped her fingers around the handle and trigger of a pistol, and trained it at his head.

"I said, turn right at the stop sign," she ordered.

Sue Ellen screamed with fright as the image of the firearm hit her eyes.

Mr. Haney swallowed. He couldn't understand why one of his schoolgirls was pointing a gun at him. It seemed outrageous and impossible, but he knew his life was in peril.

"All right," he said calmly, executing a right turn at the intersection. "Now please put the gun away."

"Do what he says!" Sue Ellen urged frantically. "Put the gun away!"

"Quiet!" Prunella barked at her. No malice was evident in her eyes—only a cold rationality.

The '57 Chevy rolled along for half a mile, its driver tense with fear. Prunella displayed no sign of emotion and no intention of yielding. She held the pistol frozen in midair, its business end glaring mockingly at the helpless Mr. Haney. Sue Ellen dared not speak, and struggled not to cry.

The vehicle reached a level part of the road where bushes concealed the left side. "Drive behind those bushes," Prunella commanded Mr. Haney, and the Chevy lurched over the bumps as he obeyed. "Now stop the car and get out."

Sue Ellen was already in tears by the time Prunella waved the gun at her to force her out of the car. She marched her two captives several hundred feet into the pine forest, then said, "Stop." Mr. Haney and Sue Ellen stood stock still, occasionally glancing behind them only to find that Prunella was steadily covering them with her firearm.

Three long minutes passed before a band of six cat women, all wearing Yordilian uniforms and berets, emerged from the wood. One of them Mr. Haney recognized very well—it was his former love, Zoe Belnap, the woman who called herself Gadfly.

"It's been a long time, Herbert," she said pleasantly.

"Hello, Zoe," said the principal meekly.

"That's not my name," said the cat woman, glaring fiercely. "You will call me Gadfly. That's not my name either, but that's what you'll call me."

"What do you want?" Mr. Haney asked her.

"Why ask questions to which you already know the answers?" said Gadfly, looking aside at Sue Ellen.

The cat girl's heart shuddered. "Me," she said quietly and weakly. "They want _me_."

"You're a smart girl," Gadfly commended her. "Smart, like your parents."

She made a gesture with her head. Two of the cat women pounced, each seizing one of Sue Ellen's arms. The girl screamed, scratched, and wriggled to escape their iron grip, but all in vain.

"If you hurt her, you'll have _me_ to answer to," Mr. Haney snapped.

"I see," said Gadfly with a distinct lack of concern. "And who will I answer to if I hurt _you?_"

To Sue Ellen's horror, Prunella slowly raised the pistol in her hand and aimed it squarely between the principal's shoulder blades. "Mr. Haney!" she cried out.

Haney whirled, and Prunella fired three rounds into his chest.

* * *

To be continued in Arthur Goes Fifth VII 


End file.
